The Scourging of Azeroth
by Arcane Gryphon
Summary: Rewritten Chapters 1 ,3, 4 from scratch. Added Chapters 13,14,15. Reuploaded edited versions of every other chapter. Removed several grammarspelling mistakes. Feedback plz on new & changed chapters. Currently working on rewriting prologue & old chapters
1. Prologue

**The Scourging of Azeroth**

**Foreword : **Internal conflicts are on the rise, and it seems that hope is all but lost. In this particular fic I go through different character perspectives, describing the conflicts they face and the problems they have to overcome. The world is at war, and the setting is the realm of Azeroth. The essence of the story is that the battles fought on the battlefield itself is merely an illusion reflected on the surface of greater, and hidden battles being fought underneath. This is a tale of internal conflict and power struggles, of hidden truths and deeper meanings behind the deceit and lies we are made to believe.

A thank you to all those that have helped or reviewed this to make this what it is now. You know who you are.

**Prologue : The Darkest of Times**

_Death shall devour this land and all who reside in it  
Only to me alone shall every soul submit _

_The denizens of this world shall be victims of my wrath  
My undead army will consume all who stand in my path_

_Pathetic mortals they are, to their forgotten prophecies they cling  
Truly there is none as powerful as I, the mighty Lich King_

_My will be done, that not one can defy  
Those who stand to oppose me, shall die_

_The last remnants of humanity shall soon be made undone  
For the the scourging of Azeroth, has only just begun..._


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The Siege**

_Mistakes have been made yet I can't help but ask why?  
How come we are the ones who have to see our loved ones die?_

**Present Day**

As blades of steel clashed and the sounds of battle echoed across the horizon, and as fierce magic incantations lit the evening sky in an exquisite blend of shadow and light, the Ranger could not help but admire the splendor of the scenery that lay before her. The familiar stench of death still lingered in the air. She knew the scent quite well; after all, she once had fought along side the wretched monsters. But that was long ago, and she never dwelled for long on the past.

The siege had lasted for hours now, and it seemed neither side had the upper hand. Oblivious to the Scourge, the Drow Ranger had been summoned to man the defenses. She was well of renown amongst the ranks of the Sentinel and feared by the Undead. Her appearance depicts a frail, weak looking Elf but in reality, it is a mere illusion, masking her true deceitful traits. Cunning, yet skillful, the Drow ranger is a suspicious looking character to the ordinary eye. Alas, her true motives lay unknown. Her intentions for the Sentinel seem unclear, but nevertheless, the Sentinel accepted Traxex, reluctantly, into their midst.

Traxex knew the battle was far from over, yet already fatigue was slowly taking its toll. It had been tedious reaching the Sentinel outpost unseen, and her stamina had all but faded. Weakly, the Ranger reached for an arrow from her quiver and aimed it with great care. She drew an arrow back into the bowstring as far as she could, and slowly put her surroundings into focus. Silence suddenly gripped the thundering voices of war, and ceased it to be. Her mind focused solely on her unsuspecting prey. Her entire environment seemed to blur in her vision, but the path between the predator and the prey, had become sharper and more distinct.

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Its shadow loomed over the feeble Elven swordsman. Its fangs glistened with freshly spattered blood, and its claws basked in the dying rays of sunlight, giving off an eerie shade of orange, which to the Elf's eyes appeared almost, of blood. It closely resembled a reanimated corpse, however, devoid of flesh and heart. The mindless Ghoul clumsily swiped his hand towards the Elf, who attempted to deflect the oncoming strike with his shield. The shield of wood was torn asunder, and left the swordsman running in panic. Trembling fiercely, he turned to face the beast once more. His eyes had grown wide with horror, and his grip tightened on his blade's hilt. Both anxiously waited for the other to make the first move. The Ghoul began to foam at the mouth and slowed its breathing dramatically. The Elf on the other hand, frantically searched around him for someone to lend aid, but his efforts were in vain. He was alone, and there was not a soul in sight. Before he could react, the Ghoul leapt off the soft earth and towards the Elf. In a last act of desperation, he raised his sword vertically upwards. However, it was far too late. Its claws had sliced through the rusty blade, and shredded the delicate leather fabric of his tunic. With one swipe of its arm, it dug through flesh and bone with ease. He shrieked with agony as torrents of blood began gushing out of the gaping wound in his chest. He dropped the remnants of his sword onto the moist earth, and slid onto his knees, beneath which had gathered a pool of his own blood. The Ghoul licked its lips, and quickly made another slashing motion, this time towards the Elf's skull with its razor sharp claws. Bones crunched under the immense pressure of its force, and it was then that the Elf silently dropped onto the earth. The creature's jaws suddenly snapped wide open, and it dug his fangs deep into his victim's throat. The Ghoul jerked his head back abruptly, severing an artery in the process. "Must... Feed", it spoke in a crude language, as it heartily devoured its _meal. _

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The arrow slid delicately off her fingers, and gracefully soared through the air. Moonlight deflected off the arrowhead in a lustrous sheen, and like a shining beacon into the night, the arrow pushed against the darkness. It viciously cut through the blanket of darkness, with the sound of its flight echoing past the denizens of the darkness. It flew past dozens, perhaps more, but intricately following its carefully planned trajectory. The arrow accelerated faster and faster, until it seemingly dematerialized in the air around it.

Just as the Ghoul crunched yet another bone from the lifeless corpse that lay beneath it, it sensed a slight disturbance around it. It could hear the gentle sound of a foreign object soaring in the wind in its midst, gently humming, as it went past. Repeatedly, this strange spellbinding hum could be heard, growing louder and more melancholy with time. The Ghoul ceased to feast upon the remnants of its _meal_, and stared blankly into the open space around it. It seemed mystified, yet intrigued of this captivating tune. Before it could partake in relishing this mystical melody any longer, the arrow head appeared in a flash before it eyes. Before it had a chance to react, the razor sharp point bore through its skull vigorously. A blackish blue colored blood spattered onto the ground, melding into the crimson pool nearby. The Ghoul dropped lifeless to the floor, but its expression remained perfectly preserved, a testament to the profound joy and confusion it felt before its untimely end.

Not too far off, the Drow Ranger merrily drew another arrow from her quiver and stretched it across the bowstring. She began focusing solely upon her target once more, when a rustling of leaves in the forest behind the Drow suddenly caught her attention. Her long, narrow ears could sense even the most subtle noise, detecting even the slightest of sounds from miles away. The moment she heard the sound of footsteps, she immediately turned towards to the overgrowth behind her and took careful aim with her bow and arrow.

"_Shan'do faralah_ (_Fear not_) Lady Traxex, it is just I, Messenger Thra'x. I come bearing a message from Lady Moonfang." said a trembling voice from the woods.

Soon after he spoke, the silhouette of an Elf became visible in the midst of the thick cluster of trees. He wore a brightly colored leather robe adorned with a ring of leaves bound around the neck. Messenger Thra'x appeared stunted in height and rather hefty in size as compared to other Night Elves. He shifted uneasily in one spot as he awaited the Drow's response.

"Speak," said the Drow in a voice that brought chills to the bones.

The messenger desperately tried to avoid eye contact with the terrifying Drow. Even though they fought for the same cause, most the Night Elves did not accept other races and creeds lending aid, especially those of such unholy nature. The Ranger's black hood hid nearly her entire face, but her intensely glaring eyes could be seen past the crippling darkness. Her bloodshot eyes bestilled fear in his heart, and he felt as if they were tearing a gaping hole in his throat. The Drow's entire being brought a feeling of horror and dread to all those that fixated their gaze on her. No matter how hard they tried, something about her pale blue appearance compelled to continue looking her way. Their minds would refuse them the liberty of looking past. It is said by many that those who gaze at her long enough, see a dark mist beginning to shroud their vision. A mist so dark that it envelops the holy rays of moonlight and is said to even enshroud the gleaming rays of sunlight at its strongest. As fear is induced, the heart stops beating and a silent, yet painful death results. As a shiver ran through his spine, the messenger quickly shifted his gaze towards the cliffside. While stuttering Messenger Thra'x spoke, "Lady Moonfang...requests you to hold down the rear side of the outpost, while she proceeds to launch a frontal assault at the Scourge encampment."

"Acknowledged," spoke the Drow coldly, "leave."

Thra'x gave an obedient bow, and hastily dashed into the forests. Wasting not a moment, he fled into the trees as fast his legs could carry him. As he ran, his body seemingly melded into the forest composure. She wondered if this trick was perhaps a mere play on her eyes, or perhaps it was yet another one of the Night Elves' inherited traits.

Almost as if it were a sign of an omen to come, thunder began to rumble loudly in the skies above. The moon had now risen high above the lands and gleamed in an eerie mist. The playful shadows of the night had begun to appear, restoring an odd feeling of comfort in Traxex. A lone wolf howled in the distance, bringing back old memories to the Drow's mind, some painful while others scarring. Those scarred memories had afflicted great distress on her; nevertheless, their effect on her sanity grew worse as the days went past. The Drow kneeled once more and concealed herself in the forest surroundings. Her body appeared to meld in with the environment itself, perfectly camouflaging her in the streaks of green surrounding her. She took sharp aim with her bow in one hand and strongly clasped an arrow in the other.

Hordes of Ghouls, Necromancers, Abominations and countless Skeletal Warriors stormed through the battlefield. With every Elf that fell, the Undead grew stronger. The Drow's eye caught a group of four Necromancers that appeared to be overpowering a lone wizard. He leeched off their magical essence desperately trying to weaken their innate spells, but he was no match for the spells of shadow engulfing his soul. He collapsed onto the ground, desperately clinging onto the throes of life, for he was apparently on the verge of breathing his last. The Drow despised Necromancers, and their ritualistic ways. Necromancers were considered dark entities that possessed great power, however, were unable to tap into their hidden potential. Few could discover this hidden nexus of energies that lay locked within their own soul, but even fewer could muster the strength to control it. Many lost the last vestiges of their sanity trying to learn of what they knew not. With intense training, these Necromancers were taught to manipulate this hidden power of theirs. Soon, they became unstoppable creatures of magic of whom only a few could pose a threat to. The Drow stared intently at the battling Necromancers, taking note of their every move, and watching their every step. She drew three more arrows from her quiver, and took a deep breath. She slowly slid the four arrows through her fingertips, and pulled them further back on the bowstring. Her grip on the arrows tightened, and her crimson red eyes glowed intensely. She jerked her head backwards and let her hood gently slide off thee back of her neck. Her lustrous dark blue hair fell behind her in wavy locks.

She aimed the arrows directly above her, and focused intensely once more. Blocking out the noise and disturbances around her, she pictured the pathway the arrows were to follow in her mind. Her tired eyes closed, and the Drow let the arrows slide further into the bowstring. She tried her best to mimic the technique taught to her so long ago. It was a naga princess who had spent hours on end teaching her how, but why, she did not know. The Drow was called naïve, yet skillful. The Princess saw certain potential in the Drow, and evidently as it turned out, she was right. The bowstring had been pulled to its greatest extent, and the immense pressure being exerted on the sides of the bow made it likely to split apart any second.

She held her breath, and abruptly let her grip collapse. The arrows ascended rapidly towards the sky above, gleaming in the moonlight. They intricately followed their path in unison, and perfect harmony. The gentle humming was heard once more as the arrows flickered away from mortal sight. The Drow watched as the arrows neatly curved in an arc, seemingly jumping over the moon, and rapidly descending towards the ground below. The Wizard was now screaming in agony as the Necromancers drained the very life out of him. Immediately, they sensed a disturbance in the air around it. The gentle humming had become a fierce "slashing". The arrowheads flickered in and out of vision, causing great alarm amongst them. The arrows _danced_ in the air around them, encircling, and spiraling seemingly forever around them. All four began casting magical incantations to somehow counter the arrows that lay hidden from view. A blast of shadow erupted from one's staff, but landed on nothing but the empty air. The arrows glided through the air gracefully and darted around the victims, faster and faster, and fading in and out of the darkness more quickly than ever. Just as another Necromancer raised its staff, an arrow cut clean into its throat. The staff of another began to glow in an eerie green hue. An arrow suddenly materialized before it, and pierced through its soft, fleshy eyes. Before the fourth Necromancer could react, an arrowhead was thrust through its gut. The last Necromancer standing ran in panic to avoid death. The final arrow struck deep into its leg with sheer precision, tearing through a delicate tendon with ease.

The Ranger waved her right arm in the air, and beckoned with it towards the ground below. An abrupt rustling of leaves nearby soon signified an affirmative response. A volley of arrows hailed down onto the Scourge bastion below. Impaled by the overwhelming number of arrows, the Necromancer bled profusely, and died a painful death. The wizard stood to his feet and gave a bow towards the direction of the Drow. She smiled back, even though she knew he could not see her. The Drow Ranger's voice then rang out,

"Drive the wretched creatures back. You will not let the Protector fall! Today, we shall reign victorious!"

Fighting with increased morale, the archers fired rapid successions of arrows. The Undead numbers were steadily falling, and victory seemed imminent. In the distance, the moon pulsated in an eerie glow, and its light focused along a faint, crystalline path barely visible.

_Lady Moonfang, no doubt. _

The Undead had already begun to scatter. A loud trumpet sounded from the other side of the river. It played a melancholy tune, strangely pleasant, but the nature of the sound seemed, unearthly. To her ears, it felt an odd hybrid of a high pitched treble and a low gothic sound. Yet, as if to answer its call, the Scourge armies began to run hastily towards the sound of the trumpet. A nearby Ancient Protector dug its leaf covered limbs into the earth and wrapped its vines around a massive rock. The vines rooted themselves deep inside and gained a strong grip within the chasms of the stone. Soon, the vines retracted and raised the boulder out of the soil. As the Ancient pulled back its limbs in a circular arc backwards, the rock slowly ascended off the soil. Its arms then began to move forwards, pulling the massive rock alongside it. The boulder began picking up speed, and then the vines snapped free. The rock freely rolled through the air and was thrust at a nearby Ghoul. The impact pulverized the creature beneath, crushing bones and fleshy tissue underneath the immense pressure.

"Consider this payback, you monsters." said the Drow wryly.

Mixed emotions began to brim at the surface of her mind. Revenge, hatred, remorse, and loneliness were but a few of the feelings coursing through her mind. She had a thirst for revenge, yet sought a cure for the pain that drove her past the verge of sanity. Anger boiled through the Drow's veins when she thought of what she had done, and for what she did not do. Wrong choices had been made, ones that had brought about devastating consequences. Remorse and regret were felt for actions she wished to do, and for those she did not do. She longed to see her beloved once more, even it were for but a moment, even it were for just one last time. Traxex had not felt this helpless and afraid ever since she had fled her homeland in Winter Dark. She was all alone then, and even though she was surrounded by friends here, she could not have felt any less lonesome. Ironically, it was he that had driven away those feelings, and now, his passing away had brought them back.

The Undead armies were running haphazardly in utter chaos now. In their confusion, they mindlessly fled in random directions. The remnants of the Scourge bastions were slaughtered underneath volleys of arrows and a shower of boulders. The tides of battle had finally turned, and the Scourge defeat was inevitable.

Clearing her head, the Drow Ranger drew another arrow from her quiver and scanned the horizon for any easy prey. Her sharp eyes quickly spotted a lone Necromancer on the field. The Drow Ranger began to chant slowly, but repeatedly "_Anarelah Samashar!"_ As she exhaled her breath onto her arrow, a misty haze materialized and engulfed the arrow head. Soon, it began to pulsate a hazy shade of blue. The arrowhead began to crack and harden, until a layer of ice had formed across the surface. She took careful aim with her bow and brought her target into focus. As she let the arrow slide across her fingers, and it traveled towards the Necromancer, a gust of wind began to blow along its path. A layer of frost formed around the arrow, and followed it as it sped towards the Necromancer at a rapid rate. The Necromancer, sensing this mystical enchantment well beforehand, raised its staff to channel a counter-spell. Its staff was engulfed in an eerie green hue and the glow spread to the different parts of its body. This odd magic began to have a strange effect on the air around it as well. A strange scripture began to write itself with the rifts of wind itself. This text shone brightly in a stark white before a dark portal burst forth, and seemingly devoured it. Powerful shadowy enchantments could be sensed from this portal from large distances apart. Even the Drow Ranger shivered once she felt the presence of this strange aura of darkness. The portal suddenly dissolved, and an innate form of shadow magic closed in around the Necromancer. This innate magic appeared to be a crude form a shield in nature. Etched in this shield, was a strange marking. It appeared to be a fiery pentacle with a layer of a faint white light circumbulating it. The pentacle fit nearly perfectly in this odd ring, devoid of any flaws. Appearing demonic in nature, it suddenly had the Drow Ranger begun to worry.

As the arrowhead came in contact with this shield, the blue haze surrounding the arrow dissipated instantaneously. The shield flashed a sharp eerie green color, and suddenly the arrow was deflected off into a random direction. Upon landing, the soil around the arrow began to harden, and various crevices began bursting forth. As a layer of frost blanketed the soil, the Drow Ranger drew another arrow from her quiver.

The Necromancer below continually channeled his spell, and the shadowy magic began to encroach the ground beneath him. "_Crucia la Silencia_" chanted the Drow in a silent whisper, as she caressed the arrow clasped in her hand. Traxex pulled the arrow back into the bowstring as far as possible, and then gently released it into the air. The arrow rapidly sped towards the Necromancer, accelerating faster and faster. It struck the shield, and began to embed itself within. The shield flashed a bright green once more, but the arrow continued to burrow its way through. It fed on the powerful necromantic energies as it dug through the shield deeper and deeper. The shield around the Necromancer rapidly began to fade, and the Necromancer himself showed signs of exhaustion. The shield collapsed entirely, and the arrow pierced through flesh and bone. He cried out loud in pain as the arrow forced itself deeper inside. The Drow Ranger enchanted her next arrow with the power of frost and launched it clean into its chest. Numbing pain seized its entire body, and soon the powerful enchantments began to take hold. His breath slowed, and the blood in his veins stopped their course. His legs hardened in a layer of ice trapping him in place. The dying Necromancer clutched its chest around its wound and with its last ounce of strength it spoke to its assailant in a raspy voice,

"My death will mean little in the end. Ner'zhul grows stronger, and it is but a matter of time, before the Scourge's wrath... devours... you all."

He weakly coughed up blood, and his grip on the staff broke free. Just as the staff touched the soil, the ice enveloping his legs shattered. The Necromancer dropped to the ground, and succumbed to its fatal wounds. The aura of darkness vanished, and its essence of life faded away with the wind.

As cheers of victory echoed through the forests, the Drow felt not an ounce of joy. She cared not for the victory, or whether the Sentinel outpost had managed to hold out. Moments ago, life had been but a fragile thing on the verge of losing its existence, but she cared not. Life had no purpose, no meaning any more. Love was what kept her persevering through the hardships and traumas, but now, that was gone. Silent vows had been broken, and her beloved had died. She swore to reveal her undying love for him when the battle had passed, but her promise could not be kept. Tears streamed down her pale blue face, and sank into the evergreen earth beneath. A trickle of rain flowed down the thick cluster of tree tops as she lifted her hood to cover her face once more. She silently rose and treaded into the forests. As she solemnly walked, she quietly whispered,

"_Fear, despair, love... When will they stop tormenting me so?_

_I'd always loved you... but now... you'll never know..."_


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Merciless Kel'thuzad's Apprentice**

_How can this be, that the mighty Scourge have been defied?  
My Lord, thy will shall be done, for ye shall not be denied!_

"Unacceptable!" thundered the mighty Lich, Kel'thuzad. "I gave you orders to take out a mere outpost, and you could not even accomplish that!"

The hooded wizard looked uneasy. His hands were trembling, and his masked face was turning a ghostly pale. He kneeled onto the floor, concealing his features underneath the thick layers of leather cloth. He bowed before the Lich, not so much that it would shatter his pride, but just enough to be respectful.

To the Lich's right stood Acolyte Alexia. The protege of the Lich, as she was called, quivered in fear regardless of having the honor of being Kel'thuzad's favorite student. .

_The master seems more infuriated and terrifying than usual. He normally isn't like this, yet people fear him because of it. This peculiar nature seems to be a trait of all Lich for some reason. The Lich themselves will forever remain a mystery to me and a mystery to the world. Hatred and anger seem to rule over their emotions at the surface, but deep under that cruel and merciless exterior lays a beating heart of compassion. I've seen that compassionate side of my master, even though it appears at only the rarest of moments. Perhaps it is because he favors me over the rest. Lie as he might, even I know that my "potential" alone does not grant me such special treatment. I may be his loyal servant, but I know that I am more than just a tool for his purpose. Unlike the rest, Master Kel'thuzad blessed me with freedom of thought to help cultivate my gift, but I know better. He may be kind, but he shows kindness to but a few. A mystery it seems they shall remain, a mystery I shall soon unravel. _

_Their true features lay hidden underneath that ritualistic mask of ice, intricately carved for initiation into the cult of the Lich. Even to this day, not a soul has seen their unmasked face. Yet it appears that the very thought of them casts terror into their hearts. They are lead under the notion their hearts are made of ice, but not I... no ... I don't believe a word they say. However, my master like them is not one to tolerate failure..._

The Undead Mage pleaded, "But, my Lord, she was a formidable opponent. Surely our army was not strong enough to thwart their--"

"Silence!" boomed the Lich, "You dare to insult the mighty Scourge, High Necromancer Baralov! Insolence! I should have you left at the mercy of the blood thirsty ghouls for uttering such foul words from your wretched throat!"

"My lord," High Necromancer Baralov stammered in a desperate tone, "I... did not mean to insult you. I beg of you to give me a second chance, to prove my worth to the Undead. I shall not fail you, Master."

"Failure is something I do not tolerate, Necromancer Baralov. You are not worthy of being amongst the ranks of the Scourge."

"My Lord, I beg of you! Please reconsider!" implored Necromancer Baralov.

"Then a test shall be conducted to prove what little worth you have to me." said the Lich.

The Necromancer was puzzled beyond belief. "A test, my Lord?" questioned Baralov.

The Lich turned to Acolyte Alexia, "Kill him, and you attain his rank by right. If you fail, then he receives his second chance."

The Necromancer spoke defiantly, "But my Lord--"

The Lich spoke angrily now, "Do it now, or I shall kill you both."

Alexia acknowledged his command with a nod and raised her hands skywards. She brought them closer together and began to slowly chant, "_Ashfarah'leh Firizahka_." The temperature of the room was drastically lowering. She glared menacingly towards the necromancer. Mist started to collect around in a mysterious fashion around her arms. The hazy mist began to slowly spread across the entire room. Her hands began to shake violently, and flashed a sparkling blue.

"Failure is unacceptable, Alexia. You would do well to keep that in mind." said Kel'thuzad matter-of-factly.

High Necromancer Baralov was no fool, he knew he would have to fight for his life and prove himself. He raised his staff and absorbed the cosmic energy of the room with his left hand. Pulses of dark energy flowed into his body as he prepared to launch this collected demonic energy. "_Sar Fera'atil_" he spoke as he fired a bolt imbuing shadowy energy at Alexia.

Alexia brought her mind's eye into focus, and tapped into the magic hidden deep within her inner spirit and forced it out. The world was becoming blurrier and her surroundings were becoming dizzy. She was rapidly losing consciousness, but somehow was managing to hold out. She sensed the shadow energy propelling towards at her, and raised her hand directly at it. A portal burst open directly in front of her hand, and engulfed the Shadow Bolt entirely.

Baralov stood baffled, but soon like clockwork, began absorbing more energy to fire another bolt. Alexia sensed the disturbance in the room's ectoplasmic energies, and began to manipulate it according to her will. She outstretched her arm in Baralov's direction, seemingly "_gripping_" him. The air around her hand began to swirl, and pulsate a deep luscious green, almost alive. She began to drain the life force out of the Necromancer, siphoning the very soul out of it. With each passing second, she increased her hold on Baralov, and strengthened the bond feeding her lust for magic.

_Yes... feed me... the magic that I have sought for so long...the hunger that I have desired to quell ever since my exile from the Blood Elves... feed me from within the depths of your soul… feed me to my heart's content…_

The Necromancer was becoming tense now. He uneasily tried to channel a spell, but could not find the strength to. Baralov felt the shadow energy continually draining from his arm, and leaving a void within. He was beginning to lose his sense of consciousness. The haze began circling and darting quickly around the High Necromancer. The icy particles began to form shape, and the Necromancer began to lose his very sanity. He could not speak anymore, and he felt his life on the very edge of reality. He began panting rapidly, and his eyes burst a wide open. He couldn't breathe anymore; his vision was forcibly fixated on the icy particles. They had begun to dance around to form different silhouettes, which seemed to form an unmistakeable shape. The silhouettes began to take shape of "shards" of ice that slowly formed into crude yet rigid daggers of ice. These several daggers began to "dance" around the necromancer, slowly picking up speed. The revolutions increased in velocity with each passing second, as more and more daggers filled the chasm of the Lich's private chambers.

The Lich formed a smile, and admired how much his apprentice had learnt in such a short time. He silently approved with a nod of his head and spoke in a whisper, "Finish it now."

Acolyte Alexia tore into his soul further, and closed her eyes. She tapped deep into his inner being, and slowly began to gain vision, through his eyes. Through his vision, she looked at the dancing daggers of ice; daggers that orbited in all directions in the air around him, razor-sharp daggers that spun faster and faster with each passing second. Slowly they came closer and closer, until the first one struck into his upper right torso. It ripped apart his flesh, and tore through his muscle and bone. The next dagger seeped deep into his throat, and another one sagged into his arm. All the daggers started cutting into different parts of his flesh and skin, and snagged pieces of it off with sheer precision. Then all the daggers stopped in mid-air and rushed towards him in the center gouging him at every possible angle. She formed a very sharp spear using the remaining ice particles in the air. With that, she thrust it towards Baralov. It gashed through his skull like a razor sharp knife. The necromancer collapsed on the floor. Dark red blood trickled from his body, and oozed on the icy floor. The ice began to melt, and the body began to dissipate.

_Pathetic wretch, the Scourge army was no place for the likes of yourself. _

The Lich spoke, "Most impressive! You've learnt to manipulate the Dark Arts quite well Alexia, or shall I say, High Necromancer Alexia. How goes the preparations for our secret project?"

Alexia scanned with her eyes the still corpse of the Necromancer. As she gazed at the rapidly dissipating body Alexia nervously spoke, "All goes well, Master. We are proceeding with the preparations well. I assure you, my Master, that he will be a fine addition to the army."

"Excellent, High Necromancer Alexia" said the Lich with admiration.

She beamed with pride, but hid her satisfaction to the best of her ability. She gave a quick bow, and rose to leave. Pleased with her Master's decision, she strode out of the chambers, merrily humming a serenade she was taught as a child.

_Ashora Aalakena Feras, Jharrakal Ishnu Dela, Luminas Katalana Ishnu Materia_

_(And the call of destiny beckons, take it child, for it may never call for you again)_

_All is going as planned my master, and soon the Sentinels and the rest of our enemies shall be eradicated._


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Shadows of Lordaeron**

_It seems that these reminescents of the past will never stop haunting my mind  
These scarring memories will to remain forever, each day they choose to remind_

**Interlude**

The weather appeared to be in a hateful frenzy today. Swift winds were darting across the landscape and brought with their travels icy chills of the winter solstice. Viciously the air cut through trees and tore through leaves in its raging fury. There was a visible rift torn through the balance of Mother Nature, more so apparent in the frequent storms that shattered the peaceful earth below. As a vicious gust of wind sped past Davion's brow, he stood still and gazed intently at this glimpse of nature's wrath at its finest. Intently he watched, ever silently, at nature's grand splendor. It was a dazzling sight to behold...for some at least. Some gazed at the grandeur of it all with a feeling of mystified awe, while some chose to fear this violent fury yet quietly marveled from afar.

The kind words of his mentor were often soothing at these times. His presence alone made Davion feel secure and safe even though most mortals cowered in fear of such a mighty Druid. Possessing infinite volumes of knowledge over nature and being able to transform into woodland creatures at will, Druids were well respected and sought out to receive training from for countless centuries. So blessed by nature these celestial beings were that they even had the gift of morphing their own physical appearance, allowing them to receive a unique blend of abilities.

Transformations, however, varied from Druid to Druid. Some were known to have had the mark of a Claw which symbolized the strength and brute force of a ferocious forest bear. There were those that had the mark of a Talon who had the ability to transfigure their shape into that of a swift, agile Raven. Some gifted ones could even call forth such creatures to lend aid, and eradicate all those who dared to harm the intricate balance of nature. Rumor had it that there was a third, hidden symbol, known only to a select few who practiced it in secret. Collectively, these three marks were called "_Ferish Thara'nar_" in the Night Elven tongue. "_The Trinity_" was what this strange symbol was called amongst the ranks of the "Disciples of Arcana". Davion's mentor was the last remaining of his kind though, for the Burning Legion's third invasion had vanquished all Druids but Master Syllabear himself.

As the loyal servitors to the Burning Legion stormed through the vast eastern lands of Azeroth, countless kingdoms crumbled beneath their unfathomable power. As kingdom after kingdom fell under their power, it seemed all was lost. War was on the rise amongst the mortal nations themselves and rebellions had encroached the lands. These insurgents had already taken control over large territories, yet little did they know that a greater force would come to overpower them. The Night Elves of Darnassus sent their mightiest of warriors to aid the Stormwind Alliance, which was already being torn apart within from the aftermath of the War of the Magi. The Burning Legion swiftly struck and broke through the city defenses with ease.

Davion, a mere child at that time, was present in Stormwind during the Legion's onslaught. Shielding his son's eyes from the sheer brutality and savagery of the Legion Davion's father, Alanar Darian, fought valiantly along the front lines. Alanar fought courageously until his very last breath and chose not to submit unto the Legion, unlike his cowardly kinsmen. It was only a matter of time before the entire city came under the control of the Demon Lord, Kil'jaeden. Soon, the Nathrezim leeched upon the last remnants of human resistance, slowly whittling away their life force and determination. All this, painfully slowly so as to try to savor the sweet taste of victory.

Once his mother too fell victim to the Nathrezim murders, Davion was left alone and afraid. Unbeknownst to Davion, his mother had enchanted her child with a spell of protection, allowing him to flee unseen. He fled from the city gates as far as his legs could carry. His journeys eventually led him into the heart of a distant forest. Tired and exhausted, he collapsed at the entrance of a massive cave. There, a sympathetic Druid took pity for the lonesome child and took him into his care. "_Syllabear_" was what the young Davion would call his caretaker out of love. Amused by the child's playfulness and countless antics, the Druid took a liking to the fascinating name that was chosen for it, and soon adopted it as its own. _Syllabear_ was always fascinated by this title of his and would ponder long hours as to what its meaning could possibly be. Whether it spoke of volumes of wisdom or of an undying connection, Davion would not tell him. Countless years went by as Davion remained silent about the hidden meaning that the Druid questioned him over daily. Whenever asked, he would quickly flash a mischievous looking smile at his mentor. The lad never really had the heart to let the senile Druid know that it was a play on the words "Silly" and "Bear".

The Druid raised him well, almost as if the human boy was his very own child. Aside from al the joyous moments they shared, Syllabear made sure to teach Davion various talents that could come handy. Davion learnt the Night Elven dialect and the use of a staff for battle from Master Syllabear. Strange as it may have seemed, Davion had a magical presence about him, continually encircling in and around him. Even though the Druid could sense untapped energies hidden inside the boy, he could never really unlock this strength no matter how hard he tried. Fruitless efforts were spent to teach Davion how to manipulate the forests and replenish dying life. When all attempts failed, Syllabear nearly gave up.

For his last trial, Syllabear tried to teach Davion the art of transformation. Unable to focus onto his hidden spiritual energy, Davion failed to follow his master's teachings. When it seemed all was hopeless and Syllabear was ready to call it a day, something miraculous happened. Davion's entire body started trembling and he began to experience rapid convulsions. Syllabear calmly began chanted a spell to cure his ailments, however, Davion's body jolted backwards, almost as if he was rejecting this effect. His playful blue eyes slowly turned into an intense bright yellow. Veins began to thicken in his arm, and his muscles began to thicken and extend outwards. Davion's fragile robes tore as his body began to swell readily in size. His fleshy skin began to break out in scales and a tail-like appendage bulged out from behind. His feet slowly became disfigured until they took the shape of crude talons. His fingers quickly narrowed and thinned, but slowly took upon a craggy exterior. Claws took the place of his hands and soon tinted in a greenish hue. As his appearance slowly began to resemble that of a flying serpent, a strange insignia embedded itself into his shoulder. The Night Elves knew this symbol as _Ouroboros, _a mythical symbol depicting the eternal continuity of nature. In this ancient insignia, a Dragon-like being can be seen, continually moving in a strange circular pattern. With the beast's mouth seemingly devouring its own tail, the creature forms a strange never-ending loop, mesmerizing all those that try and study this phenomenon.

At that moment, the color had begun to drain from Syllabear's face. His calm composure had all but faded, and he was showing signs of panic. He feared for Davion's safety for he knew such a powerful transition could have dire repercussions on such an inexperienced human. It was then, that his worst fears came true. Davion's body suddenly ceased its magical metamorphosis and went limp entirely. The grass beneath his talon-like feet had strangely begun to wither. Before the Druid could even blink, the ground erupted in a fiery inferno. The flames made their deadly course around every inch of the boy's body, licking at the scales that had begun to form. The flames danced continually around him, etching themselves deeper and deeper into what was left of his skin. Leaves and overgrowth around him too ignited in the path of this raging fire, lighting the entire area around them ablaze.

Davion's eyes then squeezed shut, and everything disappeared. The raging fire, the burning leaves, and even the dying grass beneath him was gone. He could hear only the gentle calm of running water. When he opened his eyes, he saw grievous wounds in his skin and charred skin where the fire had been in contact with. Where he expected blood to flow from the gashes in his body, came only a short trickle of blood. His wounds began to close themselves up as quickly as they had appeared. The charred skin was shed off, and new, healthy skin quickly replaced it. Horrified by what was happening to him, he screamed out loud for "Syllabear".

There he stood above him, smiling gently as if nothing had happened. Afraid of what just happened, Davion quickly backed away from him.

"It's all right." said Master Syllabear, "Everything is going to be fine. Don't be afraid, child."

As his innocent eyes returned to their natural blend of blue, Davion spoke fearfully, "But what if it won't be, Master Syllabear?"

Syllabear merely nodded his head and turned to walk away. He beckoned for Davion to follow in a gruff voice. Davion obediently listened and quickly darted to the Druid. The Druid grabbed his hand, and Davion spoke to him, "Thank you."

Yes, these last few years had been hard for Davion. Much had happened to him since that "incident", and in retrospect felt much like a bad dream. It was rather more like a nightmare for him in his days of childhood. But now, his youth is long gone and he is nearing adulthood. Since then he has been trained in the art of combat, and is now a Knight fighting alongside the Shadows of Lordaeron and against the oppression of the mighty Scourge.

The Shadows of Lordaeron were remnants of the Alliance army that once resided in Lordaeron. Shortly after the second Burning Legion invasion, these forces had taken shelter in the desolate forests of Darkshire. As ages went past, their numbers grew until they reached that of a formidable force. When news sprung of the Third Burning invasion, they gathered forces from neighboring towns to try and drive off the wretched beasts from the capital city of Stormwind. As they charged onto the overwhelming masses of demonic forces with their meager force, there was another army fighting them off for different gains. What they sought to achieve from this war may have been different, but both the Human and Undead armies were both hell-bent on their common goal: Total obliteration of the Burning Legion.

This siege lasted for years, where neither army seemed to be gaining the advantage. Where the Humans failed, the Undead advanced further in their charge. Where both failed, the Burning Legion secured a stronger footing. As more and more men of the Human faction fell, the Undead numbers grew substantially. When all hope for the Human army was lost, they retreated with what forces they had left into the surrounding forests. The Undead, however, relentlessly pursued their goal until they finally achieved a victory. Ironically, a victory sought by the Humans as well, but the result of the battle may very well have doomed the fate of many men's lives to that of living amongst the dead. Even more ironic it was that in the previous invasion the Undead fought for the Legion, but this time revolted against their creators.

The devastation that the third Burning Legion invasion had brought, desecrated the balance of nature far beyond repair. Command over the forces of nature now seems out of grasp of any ordinary soul. Many wizards and sorcerers for decades tried to tap within scattered hidden nexus of energies to try to redeem themselves of this lost form of power, but alas, their efforts were in vain. The only being that managed to strengthen his ties with the bonds of nature was the rightfully proclaimed Prophet, Furion Stormrage. It was at this time, however, that the Scourge had had begun to press on the mortal denizens of the earth with reckless determination.

_We are the last survivors of the alliance. We may as well be the last of the "living" to roam the earth. Somewhere out there, I hope there are more survivors like us… Yes, there are more out there. I'm certain of it. _

_We call ourselves the Shadows of Lordaeron. Like shadows we lay hidden, and move unnoticed. We have no reason to stay, and we have no reason to go. How and why this had to happen, I don't think I'll ever know or understand. Sometimes, I wish I could just scream to relieve myself of all this pain and daily torture. I wish to scream out loud so the world can hear me and come to my aid, but not a sound is uttered from my throat. I fear I won't be able to bare this any longer. I feel like I'm dying on the inside. Slowly, my soul is withering away into darkness. I fear I might lose my sanity in all of this madness. Why does this have to happen? Why couldn't things have been left the way they were? How did we come about this predicament? Why is it that I have to continue living with in this torment? Why couldn't I have been killed off like the rest of them? Why! Tell me oh mighty Elune who graciously watches over us. Tell me why!_

"What's on your mind Davion?"

_Ah, now I remember. Her, the one who has the voice of that of a chorus of angels. When she sings, an angel gets a halo. When she looks at me, the stars shine brightly against the night sky blanketed in darkness. Her presence alone radiates brighter than the sun at its peak. The Master said that someday I would find myself someone to who I'd feel obligated to, someone I would willingly devote myself to with all my heart. For her, I would rather lie on a bed of burning coals or drown in the icy waters of Northrend than have her bleed a single trickle of blood. She is the fairest maiden in the land, and by far the most graceful and elegant. Smile for me Rylai. Oh sweet Rylai, smile for me, my love!_

The young girl gently strides in the direction of Davion. A white robe covers her from head to toe which has an insignia imbued in the fabric. It is a circular ball of a light shade with purple strands running through the middle, symbolizing the essence of mana and mark of the Kirin Tor. Her hood is thrown back slightly, just enough to most of her hair, but far enough to reveal to her facial features. The vicious winds beat across her delicate strands of hair, but nevertheless, her golden locks playfully sway in the air.

"It's nothing Miss Crestfall."

_She's perfect, as perfect as a mound of crystal. Her eyes, oh lord, what perfect eyes. Lose yourself in them Davion, you know you can not help it. Lose yourself once more, but don't stare. You don't want to offend her do you? The last thing you need is to blow off any chance you two could possibly have. Wait, chance? You actually think she'd have a chance with you? Don't be a fool Davion, you know she's out of your league. Heck, she'd probably run off to marry one of those filthy Undead if you were her last resort. Great, now you're talking to self. Oh that's just great. That is just --- _

"I can tell when you lie to me Davion. What's wrong?"

_Say something clever. Forget that, say anything. Now's your chance to impress her. Come on, don't be an idiot! She'll go for it! Nah, she probably won't. Or will she? Nah, she's way out of your league anyway. Great, you're talking to yourself again. Good job, you can manage full conversations with your self. I bet you have all the ladies come running to you, you good-looking fox. Yep, she probably thinks I'm totally insane. I can tell. I mean just look at her. She's rolling her eyes now. Heck, she's staring at you blankly. Davion, she wants an answer. Say something! Ok, now she's staring at the floor waiting for answer. Oh by the Light Davion, say something! It doesn't have to be clever! Just say something. Anything will do! Make out a word! Any word will do!_

"What?"

_Yea, she probably thinks you're crazy._

"I said, you seem troubled. Is something wrong?"

_Well, other than the fact that you think that I'm crazy..._

"It's nothing Miss Crestfall."

_How is she so calm after all that we've been through? Death, sorrow, all those horrors and tragedies we've been through, how can she possibly forget it all? How could she forget the savagery at Stormwind? _

_I really should try to be more like her. I worry even more than Master Syllabear at times. It's just that when she is near me, everything else seems insignificant. All the gut-wrenching pain seems to just float away with the wind. The way she holds her aqua blue tinted staff gives me a sense of security. The enigmatic white glow from the crescent-shaped tip gives me a sense of awe, and inspiration. The feeling is just unexplainable. Or _**does** _she think I'm crazy---_

"Davion?" spoke Rylai interrupting his thoughts.

_Yea, she does. _

"It's, just what we've been through in these last few months. I can't seem to make my peace with it."

_How am I supposed to make my peace with it? They all died, every single one of them died. Seeing my own parents slaughtered, having to run away from home. Siding with a rogue orc to lead us, it's all just unreal! _

"Have no fear, I will always be here for you and to protect you," said Rylai laughingly, "Just remember, I'm here for you if you ever need someone to talk to."

With her glowing staff held in one hand, she slowly treaded back towards camp. Davion stood motionless, staring at her silhouette disappear into the light fog.

_And fear not my lady; I will never let anything happen to you._


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Painful Memories of the Past**

_Why are we the ones who are tormented so? Will I finally achieve peace at last?  
Why are we the ones to suffer, the ones who must bear the suffering of our past?_

A cloaked figure stood alone in his private chambers, deeply immersed in meditation. Wearily, he clutched his staff of oak, hoping to somehow ease his pain. These past few days had taken their toll on this poor soul's health. Memories were all he had left of his love, memories that brought back feelings of sorrow. He tried his best to conceal the grief he felt over her loss, but failed miserably. He had always envisioned of how their lives would be led in happiness and joy, and how they would grow ancient together. He could almost imagine standing alongside her, gazing at the sun setting for the last time. His fingers intertwined with hers, with a calming breeze flowing past the luscious green forest canopies of Ashenvale. They would take a moment to let the serenity of it all sink in, to soothe their aches and leave their minds to a blissful contentment. The calm of it all being a refreshing change from their troubled lives, which would finally end in an peaceful slumber for all of eternity.

Yet, a scenery of such grandeur and splendor only paled in comparision to the perfection that was his beloved Tyrande. Her figure, sleek and slender, would seem so elegant as she gracefully fired volleys of arrows upon the wretched undead. With beauty unmatched and prowess over archery paralleled to only a few, many looked upon her as a symbol of grace and strength combined. Her dark blue strands of hair would dance playfully in the wind, hypnotising any onlooker into a mystical feeling of awe and wonder. As her nightsabre growled fiercely on the battlefield, Tyrande aimed her bow and arrow in such a lethal manner that it aroused feelings of fear and despair in her foes.

His name was Furion Stormrage, once demi-god and Prophet of the Night Elves, now a broken shell of a man. Subjected to the eternal torment of losing what he had held most dear, life itself had grown all but meaningless to him. He had discreetly chosen to let his soul slowly wither away into the cold depths of the nether for there was nothing worth fighting for anymore. Shackled to the constant whims of the elder's council, he had lost all perspective on freedom itself. His will was not his own anymore ever since, yet Tyrande persuaded him to pursue his dreams. They had been shattered long ago, yet he pretended as if nothing was ever wrong. Sorrow was tearing him from within, but he hid his feelings from his brethren in order to ensure that their hopes would thrive for another day.

But now, she was gone and would never come back. He had been helpless to save her, or atleast that's what Furion constantly tried to force himself to believe. Yet the sad truth of it all was that he knew that it was own inability to act on the spur of the moment that had resulted in the perishing of his loved one. He sighed heavily and immersed himself in a deep meditation once more, hoping to connect with his ancestral spirits to seek guidance.

_Ancient spirits, I seek your guidance for I fear I may have lost my way. I fear that I have lost my way and there is no path to be found. Send me a sign so that I may continue to aid my brethren for yet another day. My health is already failing and I sense that my passing is growing ever closer. Please, light the path for it is our darkest hour. If there is no chance for me then atleast guide those that have long since gone astray. The undead threat goes stronger with every one of us that falls, so I implore your guidance. Guide them, before it is too late... even if it is too late to save my soul. I care not whether my soul perishes in a peaceful death, but grant me the desire I hide away in my heart. I wish to be reunited with her, if it is not too much to ask. _

A tear streamed down his wrinked face as he mouthed his silent prayer. The thought of never being able to lay eyes upon Tyrande was too much for the old man. Hundreds, if not thousands, were slaughtered daily but this was the first time that it had brought so much grief. Solemnly, he rose to his feet and placed his staff gently on the ground. More tears descended down his cheeks and seeped into the crevices of the ground beneath. At that precise moment, someone stepped into his chambers.

"Shando Stormrage, Lady Traxex and Lady Moonfang have managed to thwart the undead threat from the Darranas outpost. Anu' Durah, we have reigned victorious!" said the emissary hastily without a moment's pause for taking a breath.

Furion irritatedly responded, "Very well Thr'ax. You may leave now."

"Are you not excited, Furion?" inquired Thr'ax with a hint of surprise in his tone.

The Prophet sighed heavily and replied impatiently "As always I am, but tell me, were there any casualties?"

Thr'ax answered in a melancholy and mournful voice, "Several archers succumbed to fatal injuries and the undead taint. Also, a few of the protectors were crushed by the raging meat wagons."

Furion slowly closed his eyes and dismissed the messenger firmly, "Very well. Leave."

Thr'ax pouted just a tad bit right then, but let his sense of honor best his broken pride. The Night Elves were a naturally proud race afterall, and an overflowing pride could be found in each and every one of them. In some, this molded into such an obscene amount of arrogance that it inevitably fostered in them a feeling of superiority over all other beings whom they merely dismissed as "inferior". They bowed to no one, not even their own archdruid. Ignoring the rudeness of Furion's strange urgency, Thr'ax left the chambers without saying another word.

As Furion's eyes closed, his mind drifted over the memories that haunted him every moment of his waking life. He could feel the world itself trembling beneath his feet, as his mind forced itself to the last moment he laid eyes upon her. His humble abode, the floors of elk and the oak-laden walls, faded away from plain sight. The deafening silence of the room was soon drowned out by the cries of war and echoes of battle. Rows upon rows of soldiers filled the empty space around him. The ground itself cleaved outwards and fashioned sleek hillsides and jagged cliffs. Trees sprouted from the ground, in contrast the the blighted ground which encroached the lands in the horizon. The sun descended into darkness once more, and the gleaming moon rose to illuminate the starry night sky.

From the murky, dark soil bust forth the ancients themselves, rising proudly to defend the Barrow Dens until their very last breaths. Their vines entangled gigantic boulders which they dug out of the earth itself and endlessly hailed massive rocks upon the legions of Undead that dared to defile their lands. Volleys of arrows rained upon the ranged support of the Scourge, impaling each and every creature that was unlucky enough to be caught in the midst of the piercing arrowheads. There, in the center of them all stood Tyrande Whisperwind on her ferocious nightsabre, aiming her bow and arrow viciously into the fray. Her nightsabre perched silently in the shadows, reflecting the dazzling rays of moonlight in its stark-white fur.

She whispered a fiery incantation to enchant her next arrow, and pulled it far back into her bowstring. The arrowhead burst into flames just as the arrow slid across her delicate fingertips. It trailed across the darkness, leaving a path of fire as it followed its trajectory. Upon contact with the cloak of a necromancer, it imploded in a fearsome blast, sizzling the tender flesh of the wizard-like being. She caressed her mount gently around the neck, and it responded with a loving, appreciative purr.

Just then, a wave of frost of incredible magnitude forced her mount several paces back. A dark entity of unimaginable fortitude of power stepped forth between the clashing armies. After casually tossing his cloak backwards, he thrust a skeletal appendage into the air and snapped his bony fingertips. At once, a layer of ice surrounded his entire being, and an icy mist began to swirl. It soon took the form of a crystal vortex, perfect in its crystalline structure and simplicity. The ice shattered into tiny little shards which swiveled furiously around him. The elves soon grew fearful and begun to retreat, but alas, their efforts were futile. One by one, these shards of ice bore into their skulls with razor sharp precision, fatally wounding them.

He dismissed the undead soldiers that had gathered around to gaze at this mysterious spectacle and turned to face the Priestess of the Moon. He was the Lich, Kel'thuzad. A master of manipulation of ice, and adept in the forces of the shadowy nether, he was bound to be a match for the elegant Priestess. Leaving not a moment to spare, Tyrande instinctively drew an arrow from her quiver and launched it towards the hovering Lich. The air suddenly chilled around Kel'thuzad, and before the Priestess could even blink, the air in front of him compressed to form a barrier of ice. The arrowhead harmlessly deflected off the hardened layer of frost and casually dropped onto the ground.

A frown formed on the Priestess's face, yet she continually pelted the Lich's barrier with arrows, hoping to somehow shatter this mystical icy shield. Irritated by her relentless efforts, the Lich closed his eyes and went into a deep trance. Tyrande seized this oppurtunity by enchanting her next arrow with the innate magics of flame and aimed it directly in the center of the icy block. As soon as the tip of the fiery arrowhead came into contact with the Lich's icy barrier, it melted and dissipated into an aura of mist. The arrowhead struck clean into Kel'thuzad's abdomen, breaking his intense concentration. Seething with anger, he fashioned a mist between his fingertips, which soon began to emanate a dark, shadowy energy.

"I'm going to savor every moment of this, Priestess." remarked the Lich snidely.

Tyrande retorted defiantly, "Elune shall watch over me, you vile creature of the shadow realm. If she wills it, may your demise be a swift and painful one."

Kel'thuzad responded irritatedly, "Spare me the formality of having to endure your self-righteous speech. I have much to do, so let us make this a bit quick, shall we?"

Tyrande's mouth broke into a cheerful smile, just before she began to fire her next volley of arrows in rapid succesion. The Lich mysteriously seemed to evade the arrows without even moving from his spot, yet their trajectory was an accurately and carefully planned one. Instead of fussing over this strange phenomenon, the Priestess began to blur out her surroundings, and focus in on her mind's eye. A holy shroud of light fused with the deepest confines of her soul, and the stars above began to twinkle uncontrollably. Bewildered by this bizarre show of the night sky, the Lich continued to channel his spell, expecting the worst to happen.

A single beam of white light suddenly shone upon Tyrande, enveloping her entire body in its brilliance. Fragments of the stars themselves suddenly careened towards the earth below at a lightning fast pace. Before the Lich had time to initiate a counter-spell, he was crushed under their immense force. With his energy suddenly drained, and his vitality quickly fading, he dropped onto the cold, hard ground. The stars themselves seem to continually crash upon the earth's surface, eradicating much of the unholy Scourge in the forceful impact.

Kel'thuzad lay on the ground, desperate to regain his lost energies. He focused on the nexus of energies of a necromancer that stood nearby, and began to feed off its spiritual essence. With a flick of its wrist, the necromancer dropped lifeless to the floor, and the Lich was revitalised once more. The white light cast upon Tyrande suddenly faded, and she quickly reacted by stretching another arrow across her bowstring.

"Enough!" thundered the booming voice of the angered Lich

He waved both of his arms in a mystical fashion skywards, rapidly and repeatedly like clockwork. Mist rose from beneath his feet, and twirled around his entire body, ascending slowly while revolving around him. A flash of blue lightning cackled from his bony fingers, animating the mist that swiveled around him. It began to harden and take the crude shape of a large globe. In the palm of his left hand, an orb of shadow materialized of enormous power. The orb of shadow fused with the globe of ice, and began to dance frantically in circles, before a visible crack began to appear in the center.

The ice shattered to form jagged spikes, which hovered several feet above the ground. Rythimically they swiveled around each other, about a fixed point where the globe originated. Tyrande was seemingly thrust into a deep trance after gazing at this mystical splendor. They moved in perfect unison and harmony, mesmerising all who dared to look towards them. Slowly, they inched themselves closer to Tyrande and before she snapped back into reality, the jagged spikes rushed towards her. Her sharp reflexes suddenly took hold, and so she leapt gracefully off her nightsabre. Tyrande was left to gaze in sheer horror as the spiky icicles gutted her beloved pet. The Priestess had grown fond of that furry little creature and had even spent long hours taming it, yet now it lay lifeless and mutilated before her. She seethed with anger, but did not let her calm composure falter.

Tyrande instincitvely dove towards her bow and arrow set, narrowly avoiding an icicle that was ready to pierce her torso. She ignited an arrow with an enchantment and thrust it at the Lich, who prompty sealed the arrow in a globe of ice and let it fall upon the ground. The Priestess drew another arrow from her quiver, but no sooner had she placed the arrow across the bowstring, did she feel the ground beneath her collapse. Her leg sank deeply into a newly formed crevice, trapping her in place completely.

Kel'thuzad immediately smiled with glee and spoke to Tyrande, "Oh, this is delicious. What impeccable timing! Pity it has to end so soon, Priestess. I was just about to start enjoying myself."

The Lich prepared himself to cast his most powerful spell, the infamous chain frost. It is said that only a few have had the honor to have laid eyes upon such a magestic spell of untold power, and there are even fewer who have survived to tell the tale. Kel'thuzad cackled manically as he harnassed shadow energy from the surroundings themselves, multiplying its intensity tenfold as he drew out energy from his vital reserves. A mysterious glint in his eyes told Tyrande of the imminent danger she was about to come face to face with. Tried as she might, her leg wouldn't break free of the trench she was caught in. Upon closer inspection, she noticed something that sent shockwaves of terror through her mind. The harsh truth of realisation dawned upon her as she spotted a layer of frost that had begun to overflow out of the crevice itself. The Lich's bellowing laughter echoed across the battlefield, growing louder and louder in amplitude as time lapsed. Suddenly, time itself froze, as a ripple of massive energy tore through the air. A concentrated blast of frost erupted from his fingertips and propelled itself through the air, tearing even the ground asunder in its destructive wake.

She stared at her forth coming doom in sheer horror, as she was realized it was fruitless to even try escaping. In one last act of desperation, she pierced her thigh with an arrow that she had grasped in her hand. It cut delicate muscles and flesh with sheer precision, and shattered the tough bones of her leg. Yet still, she could not break free of the icy trench's grasp. She sighed heavily and gently whispered into the calming winds, "I've failed you my love. Forgive me, I'm sorry..."

Furion, sensing Tyrande's plea, suddenly turned towards the source of her plight. Fearing for the worst as he saw the rapidly approaching destructive icy spell, he raised his staff into the air and quickly mouthed out the words to a spell. However, he was far too late, and the trees that magically sprouted from the earth were too feeble to bear the weight of such an immense force. Torn to mere splinters by the harsh impact, the icy nova ripped past the trees and steadily closed in on Tyrande. She screamed in intense agony as the bitter cold tore through her flesh and blood. Shockwaves of blinding pain shot throughout her body. The bitter cold and numbness, a welcome to the agony that endlessly surged in her physical being. The devastating impact had left only remnants of her corpse, truly a testament of the malevolent Lich's fury.

Time stood still once more, as Furion gazed at his final memories of Tyrande. Like a curious child, he studied his surroundings, embedding these moments forever into his memory. He reminiscened over how pathetic and helpless he had been then, and of how he could have done so much more. As his eyes grew watery, he suddenly broke into uncontrollable sobs. The battlefield, the cries of war, the echoes of disaster faded slowly, and his humble abode came into focus. He was back home, but it was not the same. He was alone, and forever would be. His mind raced back through the painful memories once more, and he gazed intently into Tyrande's eyes, hearing her final words once more, "I've failed you my love. Forgive me, I'm sorry...".

He lovingly placed a hand in her dark blue strands of hair and stared passionately into her eyes, seemingly losing all concept reality in their midst.

_Fret not my love, everything shall be restored as it was. We shall be reunited again soon, Tyrande, soon..._


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 : The Legend of Avernus**

_The battles between the mortals, and the dead proceed further  
However, soon shall come the day in which destinies unravel _

There had been many skirmishes between the Undead Scourge and the Night Elf Sentinels until now, however, there was no such battle whose outcome would be as decisive as the Battle of Destiny. This battle would take place in one of the last prevailing strongholds of the already weakening Sentinels. It was in those Barrow Dens that fate was demarcated in. However, that battle would ultimately changed fate itself. New destinies would unravel, while some destinies would be sealed forever...

"Summon the Lich Kel'thuzad," bellowed the King.

"At once, my Master." spoke the newly resurrected Paladin

They called him Abaddon. He had long since forgotten his true name. Before arising as the Undead, he lived in Stormwind with his kinsmen. The Burning Legion had invaded his homeland and begun their onslaught once again. The Legion had arrived on the planet through the portal in the recently formed Lake Avernus, a tributary formed of Lake Crystal due to mysterious forced acting upon the river path. It is said that there were a group of seven Warlocks called the Cult of Gul'dan that had tried to summon a Fel demon from Outland itself, but in their recklessness torn a hole in their realm leading to the distant lands of Outland. The Demon Kil'jaeden, sensed this fabricated portal and had seized this opportunity to invade Azeroth with a select few chosen alongside him. Upon arriving at Lake Avernus, they slayed the Warlocks and resurrected their souls as slaves to the Burning Legion.

Of the Warlocks, only one named Alexia Kala'mar managed to survive this assault, and fled afar, and nearly a month later, reached the gates of Scholomance. Kil'Jaeden and his troops raided the nearby capital city of Stormwind, and butchered its inhabitants. The Warriors, Rogues, and Mages, Priests, and Paladins of Stormwind tried their best to thwart this invasion, but their attempts were futile. Several managed to flee, and take refuge elsewhere. Abaddon was one of the first few Paladins to fight and die valiantly in battle. Meanwhile, Alexia Kala'mar had encountered a powerful Undead Mage at the gates of Scholamance. They fought a hard and difficult battle, but it was the Undead Mage, Jaf'ara who managed to slay the much less experienced Alexia.

The Lich Kel'thuzad who was present there to carry out direct orders from the King himself, sensed a powerful presence about her so he revived Alexia in her previous Humanoid state with all her memories intact. She informed Kel'thuzad of the Burning Legion's invasion at Stormwind. Kel'thuzad realized that the Legion would once again try to trick the Scourge, and enslave the King, as the Dreadlords had done earlier.

King Arthas and Kel'thuzad with a small army secretly raided into the city Stormwind which had now become a base for the Legion. They resurrected several of the deceased Stormwind Army as ghouls, abominations, skeletons warriors and mages alike to overthrow the Legion. The soul of the Lich King told Arthas to resurrect Abaddon as a Death Knight. Hence, Abaddon was raised from the dead, and was a great asset to Arthas in helping to break Kil'jaeden's defenses. Under Abaddon's command, the front line had been decimated and now allowed Arthas to reach the Demon Kil'jaeden with ease.

The Lich Kel'thuzad, and his new apprentice Alexia had sealed the portal at Avernus for good. The Lich King warned Arthas that Kil'Jaeden was a powerful being and could very easily defeat Arthas and the entire Undead forces alone if he had to. Kel'thuzad proposed a plan, however, it required very drastic measures to be able to overthrow the Legion's leader. If the Lich King transferred his entire power to Arthas, and did not hold back, he could empower Frostmourne's might to enormous proportions. The transfer would require the Lich to sacrifice a great deal of his own power to allow such a powerful being to have his soul powered into the chamber of a sword.

However, Kil'Jaeden would even then still be too powerful to be fully defeated so a consensus was reached to trap his soul. A demon as strong as Kil'Jaeden could not be trapped in the spiritual plane as the risk of him being resurrected was far too great, but only a being powerful enough to store this awesome power of his while still being under the control of the Scourge Army.

Terrorblade, the Soul Keeper, once known as Illidan in his living state was slain by Arthas at the frigid base of Icecrown. Revived by King Arthas as a means of revenge to have his enemy sworn in as his personal slave for life, he was named Terrorblade the Soul Keeper. His memory was permanently erased to avoid upheaval. Terrorblade was chosen by Arthas to keep this Demon Kil'jaeden's soul which would grant him unfathomable power, however, would never be able to resist King Arthas's command.

With the new Frostmourne imbuing the magic and soul of the Lich King himself, Arthas was able to slay Kil'Jaeden. His soul was captured and rendered into the Soul Keeper's being restoring his once possessed knowledge of Demon Magic and granting him much more power than he could have possibly hoped to attain in his living state.

For his show of courage, bravery, and loyalty to the Scourge for mercilessly slaying his own brethren he was given the title of Lord of Avernus.

Abaddon strode towards the end of the massive citadel. He could not help but gaze in awe at the brilliantly crafted structure. The walls were magnificently designed, massive and titanic in structure. In fact, the most astonishing part of the beauty of this architecture was that it hovered several meters above the ground.

_There is no time to waste; I must inform the Lich Kel'thuzad._

He strode down the long corridors of the massive complex. While walking by, he curiously gazed at the different laboratories in which ghouls and undead were being animated from the lifeless. There was one particular lab which piqued his curiosity the most. Inside seemed to be a much larger and hefty abomination. The Necromancer inside was busily working on the abomination, ignoring any onlookers that may be peering through the glass window. The abomination did seem, unusual. It was almost double the size of by far any abomination he had ever seen. No matter, he would he able to find it later.

_Perhaps this may be the experiment that Kel'thuzad spoke of earlier?_

Abaddon burst through the doorway leading to the private chambers of the Lich.  
"What is the meaning of this!" spat out Kel'thuzad.

"I bring forth a message from King Arthas." retorted Abaddon coolly.

"Elaborate," spoke the Lich whilst menacingly glaring Abaddon.

"King Arthas wishes to see you at once."

The Lich hovered past the knight and spoke into his ear, "Not once have I approved of the Lord's unusual, fancy, for this you. In my eyes, you're nothing but an utterly pathetic excuse for a soldier. You can coax the King to believe your lies, but I shall remain as his personal servant always."

_Do not worry "master" Lich. Someday, you shall be made to listen to my every whim, and bow down to me..._


	7. Chapter 6 Act I

**Chapter 6 : The Legacy of Frostmourne **

_With the previous one slain by the mortal race, a new chosen one was made  
Arose forth a new champion in order to hold claim of the magical runeblade_

_**Act I: A Symphony of Frost and Flame**_

_Many heroes shall fall, while glory some shall claim  
This is a tale, of a symphony, of that of frost, and flame_

_All seems to be going according to plan._

The Death Knight surveyed the field in which the battle that was ensuing. He sat carefully on his mount, and observed the carnage taking place. Countless Night Elves were being slaughtered by the overwhelming numbers of the undead. Even the most powerful champions of their race were no match for the awesome fury of the undead.

_Yes... it is only a matter of time... _

_"Lord Arthas!," cried out Necromancer Baralov, interrupting the King's chain of thoughts._

"Speak." said Arthas.

"My Lord, our forces are steadily advancing on the enemy. However, there is a few that pose a great threat to our army. The army lead by the Omniknight Purist Thunderwrath has slain several of our numbers. My King, we must--"

"Enough," spoke Arthas. "Send Abaddon's bastion to battle. It is time for the pathetic Elves to face the wrath of our newest Champion."

"Thy will shall be done, Lord Arthas."

_I do hope Purist is alright... _

_A chilly breeze swept passed her fevered brow. She worried over Purist's safety. To her, it did not matter whether she walked out alive today. His safety was all that mattered. Many times she had tried to tell Purist of her feelings, but her guilt over-shadowed her feeling of love. She couldn't bring herself to betraying the one true friend she had made since the beginning of the war._

The pain tormented her, constantly reminding her every passing second that she would never be able find true love. It formed a hollow inside her heart, which seem to grow day by day. However, she holds her friendship with Lina sacred. She would let nothing come between the special bonds they shared, even if it meant sacrificing her feelings for Purist just to give a friend what they truly deserved. Traxex knelt into the soft grass atop the steep cliff.

Even though there were several other archers alongside her, she couldn't help but feel, alone and forsaken. Strange it is, how one can feel so alone surrounded by a sea of people. The Drow crouched into position, and took aim with her bow. She surveyed the ground below, searching the battlefield much like an eagle hunting for its prey. A smile formed on her lips. There was a small undead bastion passing through the narrow canyon, no doubt they intended to unleash a surprise attack on the Sentinels from behind. Fools, they take us far too lightly. She pulled further back on the bowstring, and let go. The arrow cut sharply through the air, and dove towards the unsuspecting victim below.

The Necromancer below stopped and turned its head up. The arrow was now descending at a blazing speed and was barely meters away from the Necromancer's skull. Her group of archers soon launched a hail of arrows towards the undead group. The Drow Ranger's arrow struck and pierced through its skull, and dug deep inside. It cut cleanly through the soft tissue of its skull. A purple colored liquid oozed out from the ugly gash on its head. The blood spattered to the ground. Moments later, the ghouls realized they were caught in an ambush. They began to randomly disperse, but alas, it was too late. One by one, their numbers fell, until the very last ghoul was left. It gazed at the starry sky for one last time knowing that death was inevitable. It looked at its assailants, and watched as one of them drew an arrow into their bow. The archer flung the arrow towards the ghoul, and it stared with awe as it flew towards him. The arrow struck, and it dropped lifeless to the earth.

Meanwhile, not too far away, another battle was taking place...

_The priestess has fallen... the Prophet must be devastated... I must help him... _

_"Have no fear Prophet. You shall be joining your precious Tyrande soon enough." stated the Lich arrogantly.  
"You'll have to go through me first to even come close to him," spoke a familiar voice._

The Lich turned towards the direction of the voice. She was a strong, tall woman. She wore a luscious crimson colored dress. Her appearance was elven, with the signature long and pointed ears. Her complexion was fair, and she seemed un-armed. Her hazel colored hair, wavered in the wind just over her shoulder, which bore the insignia of Quel'thelas, a sunwell. The Lich almost laughed out loud when he realized whom the voice belonged to.

"You? Do you actually think a pathetic Elf sorcerer such as yourself are any match for me? I think you are delusional, mistress Lina." mocked the Lich.

"I plan to be more than just a match for you, I plan to throw your ashes into the trailing wind once I do away with you." spoke Lina coldly

"Elf, do you realize who you speak to? I am the greatest Lich that has ever roamed this planet!" said the Lich.  
She quickly turned her head towards Furion and said, "I'll buy you the time you need. Now's the time to act."  
Furion silently nodded and walked into the shadows.

Lina Inverse brought her hands back slightly, energy flowed into her fingertips. The temperature around her began to rise. Her mind became tranquil, and clear. She gathered the power of scorching heat into her arms. Her eyes glowed with hatred. She had prepared long for this moment. This would be her revenge for Quel'thalas. Her entire family, her kinsmen, and friends had all been murdered for the re-birth of Kel'thuzad. She would not let their deaths to waste, she would avenge them. She would avenge each and every one of them... not one soul would be left unaccounted for. She would make this vile creature pay, for it was him who tainted the energies of the sunwell. She muttered a silent enchantment under her breath, "Nexus Phoenix". From her fingertips a hot fiery phoenix quickly formed and rushed towards the Lich in a fiery, hot blast of flame.

He quickly began to encase his armor in frost while steadily chanting repeatedly, "_Ashfara Fara'thor_". The phoenix dove straight into the Lich and melted through the armor and ice, leaving him vulnerable. He scowled in pain as the flame singed his pale blue skin and dug deep. His entire body was beginning to burn and singe from within. He quickly chanted, "_Para'thor Anarelah!_" and almost instantaneously the pain ceased, and the flames within him sub-sided.

Lina Inverse chuckled and said, "That was just a taste of what I have in store for you. Be prepared Lich, you will not leave this place alive today."

She brought her arms in front of her, one palm over the other. The ground beneath her became radiant, and pulsated with an eerie orangish hue. The pulses of light slowly crept across the shadows, and engulfed all shadows in their path. Soon, the light had spread across the entire floor beneath the Lich and the Slayer.

The Lich became amused. "Do you honestly think I'm just going to watch as you channel a spell? How insulting!"

He brought both arms high, and muttered an enchantment, "_Ashfara Lore_". The air around him began to chill. He shoved his hands forward, seemingly pushing this bitterly cold wind towards her.

The wind sliced and cut deep into Lina's delicate skin. She closed her eyes and became ready to cast her spell. The Lich increased the velocity of the fearsome wind and dropped the temperature even lower. Lina's mind was focused entirely on the task at hand. She blocked out the pain, from the scathing wind. She blocked out the image of the battle going on. She blocked out, the sounds of the battle around her. Only her surroundings became clearer in focus. The ground beneath Kel'thuzad began to glow with more intensity. A strange spiral pattern appeared in a greenish hue on the soft earth. Nearly a split second later, the ground beneath the Lich suddenly erupted and sent upwards a spiraling helix of fire.

Kel'thuzad roared in agony as the massive flame consumed his very flesh. The flames licked at his delicate skin, and peeled it away. In a desperate act of retaliation he quickly blew himself with the icy winds to put out the towering inferno. He kneeled to the ground; his stamina had been drained in that last attempt to save his life. His vision blurred slightly. He spotted a nearby ghoul. He stared hard at it, and clenched his fist. The ghoul stood silent, and moaned as if in great pain. With a quick swish of his hand, the ghoul imploded, and its bony remains fell to the floor. His wounds steadily began to vanish, and he appeared to be rapidly gaining strength. He rose, and hovered above the ground, with an aura of frost just beneath.  
The Lich glared at Lina as he spoke, "The battle is far from over... pathetic elf"

Somewhere nearby, a cloaked figure was alone on a secluded hillside. He stared down at the various friends and foe, which were fighting down below. He shed a lonely tear, and it descended down his soft wrinkled skin, and dropped onto the sandy ground below. A flower began to instantaneously blossom in its place. He let out a heavy sigh of relief, and clutched his staff with both hands. His voice trailed across the gentle breeze,

_"The time has come..."_


	8. Chapter 6 Act II

**Act II : Faith, Hope, and Love **

_Consumed are we by our inner hatred, driven are we by our lust for power  
Yet all we can seemingly do is to run away, to hide in a corner and cower_

Somewhere not too afar on the battlefield, Purist Thunderwrath was fighting valiantly. However, he had begun to worry. Each Night elf slain, escalated the Scourge count further. He evaded a sloppy attack made by a nearby ghoul, and thrust his sword deep inside its gut. Blackish blood oozed from the gash. Purist quickly swung the blade vertically upwards, neatly slicing the ghoul in half. He sidestepped to the left, and swung his sword in a circular arc to decapitate another ghoul. With another mighty swing downwards he fatally wounded yet another one of the Undead.

_The battle fares on, and I am losing strength. I don't think I can do this...  
No, Purist! No! You can not afford to lose your morale, remember, there are many counting on you._

An abomination swung its cleaver sideways at the Omniknight. He hastily dodged it, and hacked off its arm. The monster cried out in agony, and Purist lashed away angrily at its torso. The abomination tried attacking Purist with its one good arm, but he shrewdly blocked the incoming attack, and dug his sword deep into the abomination's chest. The creature howled with agony as blood gushed out from its open wound. Purist almost felt a slight amount of remorse for slaughtering a creature so cruelly.

"The Legendary Omniknight, I presume?" spoke the swordsman, mounted on his rotting steed.  
His eyes were pale white, his skin a ghostly hue of gray. His appearance gave Purist an easy feeling. The man was clad completely in thick, heavy armor.

He spoke once again, "Oh, forgive me for my rude manners. I am Abaddon, Lord of Avernus, and I have been sent to kill you, Purist Thunderwrath."

Abaddon dismounted his horse and drew his sword from its sheath. Both heroes silently stared each other down, as if trying to predict their opponent's next move. Abaddon gripped his sword firmly and charged towards the Omniknight. Purist followed suit and made the first strike. He swung his blade diagonally towards Abaddon's arm. He countered the attack by quickly thrusting his sword vertically upwards. The swords clashed, and sparks flew out. The Omniknight wasted no time, and veered his sword to Abaddon's side. Abaddon swung his sword downwards to block the incoming attack, and made repetitive swings to force the Omniknight's sword further back. Each successive blow was stronger than the previous, and reeled Purist sword further back. Purist was reeling from the pain of absorbing the shocks of his powerful blows. His strength was rapidly draining, and soon his will would give out.

Abaddon sneered as he saw his foe begin to weaken. "Is that all the fight left in you Purist? I thought you'd at least live up to your name!"

"Just watch me!"

Purist dove to the left, barely avoiding a sideward slash by Abaddon. Purist knelt down taking a quick breather.  
_I won't last for long if this keeps up... I need a plan... and fast..._

"What's the matter Thunderwrath? I'm starting to consider whether you were even worth my time," spoke Abaddon coolly.

The Omniknight rose and clasped his sword tightly with his glove-clad hands. The twilight sun glowed weakly up above in the midst of darkness. Like a faint glimmer of hope, in the midst of gloom and despair. He raised his sword up above, and a beacon of light pierced through the black sky and fell on him.

He began to feel revitalized, and managed a smile. Abaddon charged towards Purist, his sword clutched tightly in both hands. He trailed the sword in the dust as he ran towards the Omniknight. Right before reaching Purist, he quickly swung his blade upwards. The sand entered Purist's eyes, and he howled with pain. He blindly swerved downwards to block Abaddon's sword. Miraculously, the blades struck each other and Purist's sword impeded Abaddon's blade from moving any further. Abaddon brought his sword vertically downwards, and then swung his blade directly upwards with full force. The force of the attack pushed Purist back slightly. His blurry vision had begun to clear, as the wind blew the dust from his eyes. Purist jumped the side, and thrust his sword to Abaddon's side. He blocked it with ease, and forced Purist's blade out of his hands. The Omniknight somersaulted backwards in the air, grabbed the sword in its descent and forced his full weight in a downward thrust. Abaddon rolled to the side to evade the attack.

Purist landed on his feet gracefully. His foot stomped into the sandy earth. Both warriors swung at each other in perfect unison. The blades clashed, and blueish sparks flew in the air. Abaddon pulled his sword to the side and grazed Purist's shoulder. The wound began to quickly overflow, and Purist clenched his teeth at the sudden thrust of pain in his shoulder. He took a quick step backwards to shake off the feeling of agony. Abaddon lunged at Purist and made swift side-way thrusts. Abaddon twisted the sword to his side, and made rapid sideway slashes at Purist. The Omniknight's feet trailed in the dust, and was being driven further and further back with each successive blow. Purist dove to the side and swung his massive blade downwards in a diagonal fashion. Abaddon howled in agony as blood gushed out of his side. He ran his left hand over his newly-created wound, and stared at Purist with spite. The blood from his wound mysteriously ceased to flow, and a greenish glow began to emanate from his metal-clad hand. Purist jumped towards Abaddon, his sword held high in the air. He brought it vertically down with all his might. His blade struck Abaddon's chest, but nothing happened. Purist was forced through the air, and landed softly on his back. It seemed Abaddon wasn't even fazed.

_What the?_

Abaddon let loose a heart-felt laughter. "Did you actually think that you could kill me? Ignorant fool! Even if I am near the verge of death I can borrow myself time! There is nothing you can do to stop me!" Abaddon swung his blade in a circular fashion around his head and then pointed it in the Omniknight's direction. The blade glowed eerily, and a strange white light shone from it. The light spiraled around the handle to the blade, until it reached the very edge. It pulsated out and struck Purist with great force. The force of the blast flung Purist backwards. He landed on the ground, more confused than ever at this bizarre sorcery.

"This is the coil of death, just wait until it takes its toll. This battle is over, Omniknight."

Purist's voice cracked as he spoke, "Never..."

His body felt as if though it was on fire. Pain shot through his insides, as if something was eating him alive from within. Everything began to, darken around him.

_No, I must not let Lina down._

He held his sword tightly, and placed a firm hand on the soft soil below. The pain was excruciating, but he would not let Abaddon get the best of him. He closed his eyes, and mustered the strength to stand. His legs felt weak, and exhausted. It felt as if there was a ton of weight on his shoulders. His entire body was shaking from the tremendous pain. He placed his left hand on the sword and dragged it off the ground. It felt, heavier, and bigger than he remembered.

Abaddon could not help but laugh at the feeble looking Omniknight. His laugh thundered across the field, over-shadowing the sounds of battle nearby.  
He walked towards the Omniknight, with his sword held high.

There was still a glimmer of hope inside the Omniknight's heart. He silently whispered, "Gods, give me strength. I call upon your aid to purge me of this spell. Cleanse my soul of this evil, and repel this dark magic from me." As he spoke these words, a translucent golden shield began to materialize around him.  
Abaddon swung his blade at Purist with all his power. Purist felt a sudden jolt of energy rush into him. He managed to block Abaddon's attack just in time.

As their swords clashed, and sparks flew Abaddon spoke with a tone of surprise, "Hah, didn't think you'd last this long Omniknight. I'm almost impressed."

"I'm more than a match for you Abaddon. Trust me; you won't leave this place alive today."

"We shall see about that Omniknight. We shall see."

The Omniknight was panting heavily, it would not be long before his strength gave out. He swerved his sword to the right deflecting off yet another attack made by Abaddon. Purist prayed, "Please, I need you to help me. I'm not going to be able to last much longer. I ask you, my guardian angel, to give me the power I need to defeat this Monster."

Miraculously, his wounds began to subside, and he was slowly regaining much needed energy. His body was swarmed by a golden aura that engulfed his entire body. Energy flooded rapidly into his veins, and he swung his blade at Abaddon with all his might. Abaddon veered to the right, and swung to the left. The sword cut clean into Purist's shoulder, and blood sprayed out with immense pressure. The wound magically sealed itself, and blood stopped flowing from it. However, the energy quickly faded away, and subsided into pain. He began to feel weak again.

Abaddon raised his sword and it flashed a bright white light over his body. A translucent glowing silver capsule began to materialize around the Lord of Avernus.

The Omniknight quickly seized this opportunity and dealt a critical blow to Abaddon's mid torso. The sword sliced neatly through skin, and flesh. He pulled his sword out, and swung at Abaddon. This time the capsule deflected his attack, acting as a barrier between Purist's sword and Abaddon's armor. "The amphotic shield," spoke Abaddon in a whisper quiet voice. "I doubt you have any strength left to pierce through it. Go ahead Purist, try and prove me wrong."

Purist brought his sword down towards Abaddon once more. The shield, and the Omniknight's blade clashed, yet the shield remained unfazed. He forced the blade, and pressed it harder and harder against the shield, trying to break it, his efforts seemed futile. Abaddon let out a taunting laughter that kindled something in the Omniknight. Purist lost his calm composure, and began to furiously whack at the barrier. Abaddon began to wear a worried look on his face. In a last ditch effort, Purist let out a boisterous cry of frustration and rammed his sword hard into the amphotic shield. It shattered, but unleashed a destructive shockwave from within. The force of this shockwave forced Purist back. His feet slid across the ground, as he desperately tried to regain control of himself. Abaddon found the window of opportunity he had long waited for. He dove towards Abaddon, and like a lance he threw his sword with blazing speed into Purist's chest.

The sword plunged deep into Purist's chest. Blood began to ooze out from the newly created flesh wound. Purist could not help but stare at Abaddon in shock, as his vision began to fade away. Spurts of blood began to gush out of his mouth. Abaddon gripped the sword firmly, and forced it in even further. All his cherished memories began to flood into his mind. He remembered the first time, he met Lina and his first thoughts of her. He began to reminiscent over the unforgettable times he had spent with her. In his mind, he began to recollect the last memory they had shared together. It was right before they had entered battle, and were about to leave with their respective battalions.

"Lina..."

"Is something wrong, Purist?'

"I just needed to tell you this before... we get separated."

"Purist, there's no need to worry. I'm sure we'll both be fin--"

"But there's a chance we may not. So, I just felt I had to tell you this before..."

Lina's voice grew more concerned, "Before what?"

"Before I never get to see you again."

Lina wore a confused yet shocked look on her face.

"Purist, is there something your hiding from me?"

_Well, here it goes._

Purist smiled as he spoke, "The moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew from that moment I wanted to be with you. Every waking moment I spent thinking about you. Not even angels can compare to the grace and beauty that you possess. Truth be told, I love you Lina. And I don't think it gets said enough, how much I want to be with you. This day, is a day of reckoning. We may never see each other again. But if it's any conciliation, until the very last breath I take, I'll be thinking of you."

As he spoke Purist pulled out a small, square-shaped box from his coat. He knelt down on one knee, and opened the black box.

"Lina, I've loved you since the day I met you. And ever since, you've made me a happier man than I could ever be. If you would just give me the chance, I hope to spend the rest of my remaining life trying to do the same for you. Lina--"

"Purist... I--"

"Will you marry me?"


	9. Chapter 6 Act III

**Act III : A Lost Cause**

_Loved ones were forever lost, broken hearts were left unmended,  
Legends had fallen, but the legacy of the Lich king had anything but ended_

The hooded figure, wrapped in an emerald cloak had fixated his staff into the soft earth beneath where he stood. The staff flashed an odd green and blue color alternatively, and rapidly. The Prophet was knelt down and in deep concentration. From the ground, blue hued globes of light began to appear, and circulate around the flashing rod, like fireflies floating in unison. More of these "spiritual globes of light" began to circle the staff, and slowly transfer their power unto it. The figure was knelt on the ground with both palms outreached towards the dark night-sky, just above the Ebony Staff. More and more of these creatures began to circumbulate the rod, and orbited around it in perfect harmony and coordination. Slowly, he chanted over and over... "_Ancient spirits... give me strength... the strength to show this evil the wrath of nature_..."

"Get ready Elf, for even you can't evade death today." said the Lich Kel'thuzad proudly.

Spiritual energy was surging into his veins, replenishing his much needed strength. The dark ritual was nearly complete, and Lina was getting ready to cast another spell. Her hands were flashing the light of a small blue flame slowly growing in intensity. The Lich realized now that he would have to actually make an effort in order to win this battle. He began chanting a demonic dialect taught to him by Alexia, "_Aagaro Aganaisha_". The flame in Lina's hand was beginning to grow in size, and power. The ground began to tremble and shake once more, and pulsate green waves throughout steadily.

The Lich dove into a deep trance, and tried to bring peace to his mind. Tranquility soon begun to grasp the inner depths of his mind, and the soothing silence stirred something within. Ancient demonic knowledge locked within the inner catacombs of his mind, began to rhythmically roll onto his tongue. Fire began to quell inside his veins, and a sheet of ice wrapped around him like a mantle.

The spiral helix triggered, and began to encircle the Lich in the center. The cloak began to thicken and slithered around the storm of fire like a snake. The raging fire began to quell, and the ice melted to water which slowly doused it out. Lina's hands began to imbue a mark, shaped like a phoenix which pulsated vigorously and angrily, almost life-like. The Lich's hidden power had awoken.

He knelt down, and tapped the ground with his left hand, and raised his right hand skyward. His right hand flashed an eerie blackish glow, while his left send an icy blue mist into the ground below.  
A blue storm cloud began to form above Lina, and the Phoenix began to flash ever vigorously and rapidly. With her palm out-reached, she focused onto the mark in her mind. The mark began to dissipate, and a phoenix began to form ahead.

It burned in a cloak of fire that raged fiercely. It screeched in anguish due to the constant pain it suffered from its own flame. It flapped its wings and flashed an array of embers at the Lich. The ground shook fiercely, and a shard of ice burst from beneath, and absorbed the heat from the embers. It screeched once again, and dove towards Kel'thuzad and spun spirally to increase the force of the flames that licked its body. The blackish energy from Kel'thuzad's right hand formed a circular orb, and targeted the phoenix. The phoenix spun ever closer to the Lich, but the orb struck it at its heart. It began to consume its entire body in dark cloak, and slowly engulfed it.

The flame began to die, and the phoenix was screeching for freedom. Its eyes were covered by the black substance, and soon the shadow energy began to corrupt its heart. Lina's link with the Phoenix shattered at that precise moment; it began to slowly die as the darkness engulfed its entire being. The phoenix was completely over-shadowed by the darkness now, and fell fast to the ground. Lina was dumbfounded, and gawked with pure curiosity as to what Kel'thuzad was planning to do with her summon. In his right hand, a black leash began to form. He thrust it at the phoenix, and he began to flood it with his own spiritual dark cosmic energies. A green colored flame began to immolate from its body, and its red colored eyes began to form like two pools of magma in a bed of ash. The phoenix flew towards the Slayer, and she quickly outstretched her palm towards it. Its body combusted in red flames, which contested with the green colored fire that was continually growing.

The dark phoenix was hastily closing into the Slayer. She closed her eyes, and began to chant in Elven quickly. A towering inferno burst from the ground, and surrounded the Slayer on all sides. It rose higher and higher, until it closed itself in a cone several feet above. The phoenix dove headfirst into the fire, and began to "feed" on the fire, and absorb it into the abyss of darkness surrounded itself. The Slayer's hands began to pulsate a blueish yellow hue.

She closed her eyes to concentrate on this spell, as it consumed a great deal of energy from her. Her fingertips began to cackle blue lightning, and the storm cloud above her began to rumble, and flash weak bolts of electricity around her. The phoenix was directly above the Slayer now, and was careening down towards her, ever closer. The Slayer cupped both hands together, and a spherical ball of electricity cackled between them. She raised both hands to the sky, and yelled "Laguna Blade!" Almost instantaneously, the spherical ball of lightning charged towards the phoenix, and took the form of a massive bolt. The bolt fizzled through the fire, and rushed towards the dark phoenix at a lightning fast rate. It struck it in the phoenix's chest, and spread like wildfire around its body. The massive electrical surge engulfed its body in flames, and pushed it through the air with a monstrous force. The phoenix landed on the floor, and began to disappear into the ground. The dark cloud of energy began to evaporate slowly into the air.

_She's weak; I can feel her energies drastically lowering. Now's the chance to strike._

The Lich raised both arms upwards to the sky, and suddenly a large glacier of ice thrust itself from the ground right beneath Lina. Fortunately, she sensed the disturbance in the ground beneath, and with haste dove out of the way. The shard of ice cut into her skin, but just barely. It almost seemed as if the stormy cloud above her, gave her the additional boost in speed to be able to dodge the frost glacier. Kel'thuzad brought his hands to his chest level, and began to circle them around each other slowly, in a spiral-like fashion. The spiraling motion began to form a haze in between, which spread to the air in front of him. The haze quickly diffused to the air around the Slayer, who was gasping for breath having barely escaped death. The haze began to form a massive block of ice, which began to head towards the Slayer with the powerful force of gravity.

She ducked to the side, and it landed neatly side by side to the old glacier. While the block was falling, he had already begun to freeze the air around him, into shards of ice. He clicked with his fingers, shattering the ice. He left one icy shard in one place, and sent the remaining massive number of ice shards towards Lina. Dozens of razor sharp, icy shards began to fly towards the Slayer at an incredible velocity. She dove to the right, and rolled to the left followed by a quick backward somersault evading all the shards. The Lich's mind was in unison with his environment now. He lifted those shards off the floor, and flew them towards the Slayer once more. The Slayer quickly reacted by unleashing a ball of fire towards the icy shards. The Lich sent a massive draft of bitter cold wood towards her, which pushed her body up against the ice. He sent the final shard of ice and gashed it deep into her right hand's wrist.

He lifted one shard off the ground, and thrust it into a nerve in her left shoulder, paralyzing her left arm. She clenched her teeth with pain, but resisted the urge to scream in agony. She would not allow herself to let the Lich have the satisfaction.

The Lich on the other hand, began to smile with glee. He walked closer to the Slayer, until she was but a few feet away. He outstretched his right palm, just barely an inch from her face, and began chant slowly, "Sar Fera'atil". He began to salvage any shadow energy from his environment, and siphon them into his hand. The shadow bolt was almost ready. He mockingly laughed and spat in her face. He finally spoke,  
"It is you Lina, who does not leave here alive today. I shall make sure to resurrect you as my personal pet, oh how I shall enjoy it."

She spat back into his face, not even showing the least amount of fear staring into the face of death.

"Just for that, I'll give you all of your memories back, and force you to slay your own kin."

A green flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the sky. The entire battle field glowed in its presence. It quickly darted across the sky and towards the Black Citadel. It shattered through the main windows, and found its victim. The massive bolt struck him in his chest, and the spiritual energy clawed at and diminished his very soul. This beam imbued the power of wisps, which began to drain their victim's life force. Slowly the dark entity began to lose his life, and strength. The massive bolt sent him sprawling backwards. He landed with his back to the wall, near the throes of death. He was still a part of this world... but just barely hanging on.

The hooded figure ever so far away, collapsed on the hillside due to the massive surge of energy out of his body. He prayed, a heart-felt prayer... before falling unconscious, _"May the spirits of nature have taken out Arthas... and victory be granted to the Sentinels... may the lives of those lost find peace... and may Tyrande's soul rest .. in peace..."_

_"My King!"_ screamed the voices inside Kel'thuzad's mind. He stared at Lina for a short moment, and then looked towards the Black Citadel.

_No... she's not worth it... I must attend to the King's aid..._

Without speaking a word, he left Lina chained to her icy imprisonment, and hovered to the direction of the Black Citadel.

Arthas clutched his singed chest, with his trembling arm. The surge of energy had been great... but he needed help... and he needed it now...

Frostmourne lay on the ground before him, next to the shattered glass of the massive citadel windows. He was too weak to even utter a sound. There was not even a minion in sight from whom he could perhaps drain energy from. He was all alone... and would die alone. He tried to speak, but coughed up blood instead. He wanted to scream, but he did not have the strength to do so. He wanted to cry for help, but he knew it was useless. Suddenly, he heard footsteps nearby. The metal clanging of a soldier striding while clad in mail. Yes, he knew this soldier's distinct presence well.

"Abaddon... help me..." spoke Arthas in a whisper quiet voice.

Surely enough, Abaddon burst through the throne room doors, into the King's quarters. He spoke, "Lord Arthas, are you alright?"

Arthas's voice wheezed as he spoke with great pain, "I fear not, summon the Lich Kel'thuzad... I need him right now..."

Abaddon's voice was clear and icy cold, "Imp afraid not, Lord Arthas."

Arthas sounded confused now, "What...do you mean Abaddon?"

Abaddon ignored his voice, and casually placed his sword onto the floor of the room. He knelt, and lifted Frostmourne with both hands.

Arthas eyes widened with horror, "Abaddon! What are you doing!"

As Abaddon clutched Frostmourne, voices began to flood into the deep confines of his mind.

_Death shall devour this land and all who reside in it  
Only to me alone shall every soul submit_

He began to grasp Frostmourne with both his hands, and stared coldly at his Master.  
He broke into an evil grin and stared at his own reflection in the shattered glass that lay on the floor.

_My will be done, that not one can defy  
Those who stand to oppose me, shall die_

Arthas quivered with fear as it dawned on him what was about to happen.

_With the previous one slain , a new chosen one was made  
Arose forth a new champion to claim the magical runeblade_

Abaddon raised Frostmourne high above and hissed,

"Succeeding you"


	10. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 : The Awakening of a New Power**

_The legacy of Frostmourne lives, even with the King's murder The battle may have been lost, but the war continues further_

_My King... how could I have let you die...? _

Kel'thuzad had been kneeling next to the gutted corpse for several hours now. He had not moved an inch, but continued to stare into the eyes of his master. The loss had been devastating. This was the man whom he had been killed once by, yet he had sworn loyalty unto him when he had been resurrected. The shattered glass lay beside his shadowy cloak, which trailed across the blood-stained floor. He could almost feel the presence of his master, almost trying to... tell him something... but he could not understand what he was trying to say. Perhaps he was trying to tell the Lich whom had killed him. It seemed that the green bolt of lightning had struck Arthas, and had singed his armor to a crisp dark black. However, the sword wound in his neck spoke otherwise. He peered at the wound once more. It was evident that either someone had broken into the Citadel, or there was a traitor amidst the Scourge. The first thought to enter his mind was Abaddon, but pondering more over it he realized that such a weak being could not overcome his master. He did not believe a single word that liar spoke.

_Hmph, passing of the Legacy. You of all people... why would he choose you when he had any other general in the army to choose from. _

He realized that Arthas had to be resurrected to restore order in the ranks. Most of the Undead Army had been set free from the King's control and had turned to treason without a leader. It was long before the Scourge Generals such as Lucifer and Leoric had risen to the situation and quelled the riot. It was a pity truly for the Scourge had almost won the battle. However, the uprising had managed to give the Sentinels the advantage they so badly had needed.

It was not soon before the Scourge was forced to retreat. In this utter chaos many of the Scourge's ranks had been devastated. Despite the loss, the Sentinel had received irreparable damage to their meager force. One of their strongest leaders had faced their demise, and several others had received near-fatal injuries.

Kel'thuzad fancied over the idea of trying to resurrect Arthas from the grave. It would certainly return the favor that his King had once done for him. However, the Lich knew that to revive a being as powerful as Arthas from the spectral plane would require an equally great source of energy to match. Such sources of energy were nigh-impossible to locate now. The High Elven beloved Sunwell's energies had been completely drained out, and Kil'Jaeden's soul had been absorbed into the Soul Keeper. There was an alternative method, but conjuring the spell would mandate powerful enchantments and the need to siphon the power from certain mythical beings. He would not be able to do this alone. He would need someone who would be a subject to his every whim, but a powerful subject nonetheless. Abaddon would not allow the Lich to overthrow him. No, he would sooner have him killed.

The Lich would need powerful allies, ones that he would not find here. Of course Alexia was an exception, but he needs a more powerful ally. Allies that he would not find here, one of great un-tapped power just begging to be unleashed, power found only flowing in the blood of demi-gods.

_Ahhh, the Master's Slave. Yes... he would do nicely _

_Terrorblade, once King Arthas's slave had grown more powerful over time, and his demonic will began to block out Arthas's telepathic control over his mind. Soon, Terrorblade had grown insane and bloodlusted with power. Arthas had no choice but to imprison him in the Astral Dungeon, in a cavern deep below remains of Stormwind. The Astral Dungeon imprisons the very soul its prisoner, and feeds off its mind slowly driving the captive insane. This was a necessary precaution taken to insure that even if Terrorblade did escape some day, he would neither remember who imprisoned him nor be able to become more powerful than he was. To make sure that no one would ever set him free, Arthas had an Undead Stronghold built over the Dungeon and assigned one of his most trusted subjects to take care of any intruders in the caverns._

"King Abaddon demands your presence at once in his chambers at once," spoke a rough, out-spoken female voice.

"Bite your tongue woman, he is not my king." spoke the Lich in a harsh tone.

"Your King, is the one who named him as his successor. It would be best for you to accept that now." said the woman with a smirk.

"One more word, and I shall make sure to rip that smirk off your face." spat out the Lich.

"Ha, you and I both know the only reason you're losing your temper is because the new King demoted you in his ranks and put me in your place. Isn't that right, Lich?" said the woman mockingly.

"Mortred, I'm warning you if you so much as-"

The Phantom Assassin interrupted, "If you so much as threat me, the entire Undead Army will hunt you down, and slaughter your precious Alexia. I'll leave you to you and your deceased King. Farewell, Master Lich" said Mortred coldly.

The Lich began to lose his cool composure, but managed to contain himself. He glared at Mortred, but said nothing.

_Too much is at stake, I shall not make the same mistake twice. Revenge, though great, is not worth it. _

The Lich looked at his King one last time, and left the room. As he hovered across the floor, he could almost hear the King whispering... his presence was here... but... faint. He knelt down, and closed his eyes to enter a trance. He began to focus onto the spiritual energy of the room, and tried to concentrate on Arthas's presence._  
Leave...you are in grave danger... Leave now! _

Kel'thuzad nearly lost his balance when he heard the voice. He began to feel un-easy, but knew the King's tone was grave. He quickly left the corridor and began to hover into the corridor.

_  
_His mind began to brim with a rapid volley of questions, as to what danger, or to what the King was talking about. He was pondering as to what he should do, or what the King would want him to do when he collided with Alexia on the way.

Alexia stuttered as she spoke, "Master, forgive me... I was told by Lord Abaddon to-"

Kel'thuzad interrupted her, "You will not address him as Lord. I am your master, he is a mere soldier"

Alexia though puzzled but spoke with obedience, "Yes...Master... it's just Abaddon requests for you to come..."

Kel'thuzad cursed under his breath, and silently walked past Alexia.  
Alexia scurried behind him, as he walked towards the chamber doors.

Before Kel'thuzad stepped inside he turned towards Alexia and said, "Go, its time to initiate the project we have long awaited for. Awaken our masterpiece, and flee with it to Lake Abaddon. There's much to be done here, and I can not put your life at risk. Make haste."

Alexia was utterly shocked, and after an awkward moment of silence finally spoke, "Master, what're you planning to do?"

Kel'thuzad sighed, and spoke with great pain, "I know what I must do now, but you must leave. Wait three days for my arrival; if I do not arrive till then, then I want you to travel to the Astral Dungeon. There you will meet an accomplice of the great King; you will tell him only one thing. _Ma'ashatharamon_. Do you understand?"

Alexia though confused, nodded her head. She quickly darted towards the end of the hall.

The Lich pushed open the chamber doors with only one thought in his mind.  
_Ma'ashatharamon... _

Abaddon fixed a quick stare at Kel'thuzad as he noticed him enter the room from the back. He paused for just a moment to scowl at Kel'thuzad, but continued to speak,

"Fellow Scourge. You know of the terrible tragedy that has befallen us a few hours ago. We were in dark times, and our crushing defeat was inevitable. It was the courage of a few noble warriors that managed to withhold us today.

Our great King was sacrificed in battle valiantly, and in all wars there must be sacrifices. His memory will always be with us, but let us know the motive the Scourge was made for. We will not stand to remain the defeated, we shall not be defied. We have wasted our time in the stalemate of the Elves and have forgotten our other foes. Lest our strongest enemy get stronger, I know we should strike the others at their weakest. We must eradicate the threat of any alliances being formed, and make sure our Night Elven foes do not grow stronger. Dwarves, Humans, Orcs, Gnomes alike all shall perish under the mighty fury of the undead!"

The Generals present in the room began to cheer as Abaddon spoke. They now truly acknowledged that this was destiny that had chosen their new leader. It was the miracle of Ner'zhul!

Abaddon continued, "Hail to the Scourge! The last remnants of humanity shall soon be made undone! Let us raise a cry of cheer my brethren, for the Scourging of Azeroth has but just begun!"

Through all the cheering and ranting, a cloaked figure was slowly moving amongst their midst.

"Silence!" spoke he, as the entire room grew quiet. His voice echoed, and thundered in the room.

With great fortitude he spoke, "Our King lays dead and you worship but a pauper amongst his midst."

Abaddon cut in, "Kel'thuzad you old fool! Do you not realize who you are talking to? I AM your king--"

"Never," Kel'thuzad intervened, "Never shall I accept you as my King."

Abaddon laughingly spoke, "Ahh but Master Lich, it is time you address me as one. Bow down before me, your new King."

The Lich sneered at Abaddon, "My King? You're not even worthy of being in my presence. Arthas would never have chosen you, and I am no fool to believe your deceit."

Abaddon's tone grew serious now, "Arthas selected me as the chosen one. And if you choose to defy me, then I consider this Ma'ashatharamon, an act of Treason."

The Lich coolly spoke,

"Then so be it, Abaddon. So be it"


	11. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 : Live Together, Die Alone**

_With this ring I declare my undying love, but whatever you decide is up to you I'm the happiest I've ever been, will you let me make you feel the same way too?_

"Lina, are you all right?" spoke a comforting familiar voice.

She continued to stare up at the sky, and seemed to ignore her.

"Lina?" questioned the Elven lady.

Lina neither blinked, nor showed the slightest sign of movement. She continued to stare at the starry dark sky, shivering furiously.

Luna could see that Lina was quite troubled, but even though she wanted to help her she knew that it was best to leave her alone for now. She simply walked away from her towards the casket in front. All eyes were on Lina in the back row. Everyone continued to stare and gawk at her, like scavengers gathering around a dead hyena. Everyone knew how devastated she must be, and though a compassionate race the Night Elves were like every other mortal race they were cursed with curiosity.

Luna slowly walked past the emerald colored velvet carpets, and past the numerous aisles of wooden seats.

_He was a great man, and he will surely be missed_

All of the Night Elven leaders were here to honor the passing of their beloved General. He was one of the few Humans that all races alike looked up to in the battlefield. His courage and vigor boosted their own morale and uplifted their spirits. He was a great warrior, and an excellent leader.

As she continued down the path, Luna's mind was constantly flooded with the images of Lina, and the combined look of shock and horror on her face when she saw Purist. She became hysterical, and began to scream. She screamed at him to wake up, to not leave her. Tears had flowed down her cheeks as it slowly dawned onto her, that Purist was gone. She shrieked louder and louder, and then suddenly grew quiet. She grew silent and just stared at him peculiarly. Like a playful child exploring her world for the first time, she just looked at Purist with awe. She looked at the massive gash in his chest, and then looked at her hand. Even though the wound had begun to close itself, the flesh wound was still quite visible around her wrist. What she did next was unbelievable. She slowly dragged herself to a nearby tree. She knelt down and inspected the trunk. Wit great care, she steadily ran her fingers from the bottom of the trunk and slowly made her way to a nearby branch. As she ran her fingers up the tree she began to rise. Her hand soon reached the tip of the branch. She examined it, and touched the tip with her right index finger. Then, she rammed her wrist into the ends of the branch.

Luna shuddered as the thought kept eating at her mind.

_She didn't even wince...she nearly killed herself... but didn't even show the slightest pain..._

Luna reached the casket, and peered at the Omniknight. His eyes were peacefully closed and strange as it may seem, he lay with a smile on his face. Whether it was a smile of hope, or a smile holding back a secret she did not know.

She silently whispered to him, "Hello there stranger. I couldn't help but notice that you were smiling. A smile of innocence, or a smile saying something more? Perhaps I'll never know. You told me once that even during sorrowful times of war, a smile gives hope to those who have lost sight of it. Today, your smile brings me hope. It gives me a reason to continue fighting. Your sacrifice will always be remembered, and our memories of you will never fade from our hearts. May Elune shine her light upon you. My comrade...my friend... you shall be missed."

She rose to her feet, and began to walk down the aisle. She made her way towards the lonely back row. Dozens of eyes around her seem to bore into her, but it did not matter. Her choices were her own, and what anyone else thought was immaterial. She felt as if thought her judgments were clouded, but Purist was a symbol of strength for her. When she heard that he had passed away, she felt as if though a part of her own soul had died. He was not only an inspiration, but also a shining beacon for her which lit her path in times of darkness. A part of her confidence had shattered, but the spirit of the Omniknight would forever be there like a guardian angel to protect her.

As she strode down the pathway, she quickly searched through the rows of people for Furion. Even though he had said that he needed some time alone to mourn for Tyrande, he also clearly stated that he would come to give his respects to Purist. He seemed to be nowhere in sight though.

_Pity..._

She took each step gracefully, and elegantly. Her conviction had been tested, but now had never been stronger. She had stared into the eye of death, and had managed to survive. Even though she had lost a close mentor and an even closer friend, she was coping with the situation rather well. She wondered how Furion was handling the death of his beloved, yet was more concerned over Lina. Whether she was losing her mind or just shocked over her loss, Luna did not know. She knew that she did love Purist, it's just that she never really saw her show it.

"Is this seat taken?" inquired Luna.

Lina slowly moved her head, almost nodding but disagreeing at the same time. Her eyes were over-filled with water, and a bloodshot red. She had her mouth cupped with both hands and was staring towards the floor beneath.

Lady Moonfang put a comforting hand on her shoulder and spoke gently, "Know that I'm here for you Lina. He was a great man, and I know how you must be feeling--."

Lina finally spoke, "Spare me the pleasantries, what do you want from me?"

Luna, though appalled by the response remained calm in her tone, "I just wanted to know if you're okay."  
Lina spoke with an even harsher tone, "Pretending to care is one thing Lady Moonfang but lying to my face is a whole another---"

Luna interrupted, "Enough Lina. I know your hurting, but you don't have to take out your anger on me"

"Who the hell, are you to tell me what to do?" hissed the Slayer.

Luna's tone began to gain a touch of impatience, "I am your superior, and you would do it best to realize that."

Lina's tone was bitter cold, "Am I supposed to care?"

Luna's response took the young mage by surprise, "No, but I'm sure Purist would have."

Lina's voice grew suddenly quiet, and after an awkward pause her voice croaked "I don't know what to say to that."

Luna's tone was gentle, "I know your hurting Lina, but honestly speaking I never realized that you cared so much."

Lina spoke in a whisper quiet voice, "I never really showed him I cared, but he knew...it's... just"

Tears began to stream down Lina's cheek as she spoke.  
Luna said, "It's just ?"

Tears had begun to overflow from her eyes now. Her voice squeaked, "I loved him... and now I'll never get the chance..."

Lady Moonfang's voice grew concerned, "Lina, what do you---?"

Lina's voice stuttered, "I...I... I told ... him... him...that I didn't know..."

Luna inquired, "Told him about what?"

Lina continued, "He asked me... and I told him I didn't know... before... the ... before we went ... our separate ways"

Luna was puzzled, "What did he ask you?"

Her voice was getting softer and softer as she continued, "Before we went our separate ways... he ... he gave me a ring... and ... he proposed... ... he asked me to marry him... and I told him... I didn't know..."

Luna's eyes began to widen, "He asked you to marry him?"

Lina stared at the floor, and rocked back in forth in her chair.

Luna asked, "Lina, what did---"

Lina cut her off by saying, "Then he asked me... whether I loved him or not... and I told him I didn't know... he asked me if I loved him... and I told him I didnt know..."

Luna quietly listened to Lina, paying attention to every word.

She continued, "He ... looked at me with shock... and ... put the ring away... I ... didn't know what to say... He began to walk away... I told him to stop... he turned back and embraced me in his arms... I was... just so confused... He looked at me... and told me to look deep into his eyes... and asked me if I loved him..."  
Lina had begun to shake uncontrollably, "I told him... I loved him with all my heart... and was confused... and didn't know what to do...I shed a tear... and he ran his finger and wiped off the tear...he was... so warm... and ... so caring... I just couldn't... I couldn't do it... He looked deep into my eyes, and asked me again... if I would marry him...

I wont forget how he looked at me... with those loving caring eyes...those loving hurt eyes...he was so caring.. And I had hurt him so...I didn't want it to happen this way... I really didn't... Then he ... walked away again...and... I didn't want him to go... I loved him..."

Luna finally spoke, "None of us did want it to happen this way Lina. Its okay, I'm sure wherever Purist is... he understands. He was a fine and understanding man at heart."

Lina looked up towards the Moon Rider, and stared at her for a good long minute.

She opened her mouth, but not a word came out. A tear shed out of the corner of her eye. It trickled down her face, and plunged downwards. As the drop sank into the soft earth, words finally came out,

"He went away...He was my beloved... yet left me here alone... He said we would live together forever... and would die together... and here I am... all alone... and he left without me... he left me... to die alone...He said he would spend the rest of his life trying to make me happy... and he did"

She paused for but a moment and spoke,

"I said yes"


	12. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 : The Laments of a Lost Soul**

_I lay in the void, in the darkness of my mind  
A condemned soul, with only whispers to remind_

_I lay ever so still, shivering in the darkness that consumed my very soul. I can neither gaze upon the bustling free world beyond the eternal dark void, nor hear the cries of freedom echo in my mind. Trapped, I am in the vestiges of my own sanity... I can finally see what others can not. This wretched curse had me gripped in its hold. These chains seem to drain my strength further and weaken my resolve ever so much. I feel as if the life is being sucked out of my corporal body. My soul feels torn and sundered, and strangely... alone... _

_Whoever left me as this 'monstrosity' will pay dearly. The days have gone by and I have long lost count. It's been months, years, perhaps even decades but it does not matter. When I break free of this imprisonment, vengeance will be mine. I will make him pay dearly... I won't rest until the day I will be set free from this cage. Caged, like a dog... with no way escape... Imp at the mercy of my captors whose throats I shall slit the moment I escape. Oh how I shall enjoy, and savor every drop of blood that trickles down their vile throats. It's strange... I can't seem to remember who my captor was... yet I recall seeing him before I was put in here...or... did I? I remember them calling him... or is it her... a Warden... or was it a King..._

_My memory seems to fade more and more daily. I've never felt... so weaker... it won't be long before my soul perishes... I don't know why I cling onto dear life... I know I have since long died... is this what death truly looks like? Is the darkness to be my only companion? Have I truly died in this forsaken place?  
I remember not long ago how I used to cherish the light of day and the sight of snow covered fields. I would bask in the lukewarm rays of glorious sunlight which brang forth a new day and resurrected in me a lost feeling of hope. Oh, how the sight of frost covered grass brought joy to my be-stilled heart. I would remember how I would dive into the freezing cold Crystal Lake. Though the harsh cold of the waters would chill to the bone, I could never have felt more relaxed. I would gain a sense of serenity... and a sense of calmness. Bitter irony...I chose to live alone and here I am... ready to die alone._

_I once had a love, whom I've long forgotten. I don't remember why... but I loved her... and yet she knew too... her heart was with someone else... yet I accepted it. Each day in here I would whisper her name in the darkness, hoping that I would get one last chance to see her. But, alas, that time never came. They called me a "Betrayer" and caged me... but the truth is it was I who was betrayed. I was sentenced to death, but their fragile compassion blinded them. Instead they chose to curse me with this "gift of mercy" of theirs. They could have killed me right there, but no... They chose to leave me in a secluded dungeon where I would rot until my very last breath. They banished me... and I was their own kin. I shall have my revenge on them... blood for blood..._

_The Captive ran his fingers across the loosely bound of cloth wrapped around his eyes. He gently caressed it and reminiscened over the time he had received it. It was probably aeons ago, when he was free and there was rioting in his home city. Many homes had been set ablaze, and powerful sorcery had engulfed their fair city. For days there had been a terrible storm. The rioters were none other than the troublesome Highbourne, who were persistent in trying to convince the Night Elves to take advantage of their magics. The Night elves had shown them a deaf ear, and now they sought retribution. Utter chaos had the town gripped in its folds as the storm became increasingly violent. A lonely child was wandering in the streets. He spoke out to it, to try to help it. Before words could be uttered from the child's mouth, an arrow struck into her throat. She coughed up blood, and the "Betrayer" quickly looked in the direction of the forest for her assailant. He caught a glimpse of a hooded figure running into the woods. He un-fastened the two moon-blades from their holsters on his back, and clasped one in each hand. The Betrayer ran into the forest, trying to focus onto the sound of the murderer's footsteps with his acute sense of hearing. The sound of his foot-steps abruptly halted. He had entered into a clearing._

_An ambush? _

He surveyed his surroundings, but could not see anyone. The silence was deafening, and the tranquility seemed more eerie than peaceful. The cloaked figure finally appeared before him from behind the bushes. Underneath the black cloak, was a visible orange vest. There was a bow and quiver on the floor beside the assailant, and a curved sword in his hands. He appeared to be Elven in nature. He threw down his hood to show his face to the "Betrayer", seemingly to show that his face would not be seen ever again. It was Elven in nature, but was more high-strung. His face was the true depiction of arrogance, but seemingly deprived of something almost like a man who had not eaten in days. The Elf withdrew his sword from his hilt, and glared at his prey menacingly. The hilt was a golden spiral with a sun deity roughly carved in. The sword appeared bent, and more hook-like in appearance. He knelt down and drew out a dagger concealed in the grassy underbrush. His hair was golden, and complexion was a ghostly pale. He finally rushed towards the Betrayer with both weapons wielded. The Betrayer quickly rolled to the side, and was agile on his feet.

He jumped sideways onto a tree, and using his legs he bounced himself towards the murderer. He spun in the air twisting his moonblades around in a vicious manner. His body suddenly became lit in flames, and twisted his blades into a helix. The assailant flipped backwards, and landed on his feet and knelt into a crouching position. The Betrayer landed on his front, but hastily jumped onto his feet. The Elven assassin thrust the dagger straight at the Betrayer. He clashed his moon-blades together and trapped the dagger in the crevice between. Suddenly, the Elf lunged at him with the sword held in a twisted manner in his hand. The Betrayer brought his blades into an X-shaped position, and made a sideways slash at his assailant. The blades appeared to, slice through thin air. The silhouette of the Elf disappeared, and the dagger in between his blades vanished. Beads of sweat began to flow from his head. The ground beneath him began to pulsate in an eerie green hue.

Almost instantaneously, through the ground erupted the Elf assailant and split into 3 copies of himself. Each stood before him, and laughed mockingly. All three jumped at the Betrayer from different directions, swords tilted downwards. The Betrayer was agile, and quickly evaded the first one with ease. Just as he was about to land, the Betrayer thrust his sword into the figure's mid-section. Once again, the blade struck only thin air. The next two were coming at him now. He did a flip backwards, and thrust his left moonblade at one of the enemies. It swirled in the air in the form of a helix, but it too did not strike flesh. It simply continued its path of flight, and etched itself into a tree. The last one thrust his sword at the Betrayer. He placed his sword directly in front, to brace the impact. He felt pain, horizontally across his back. He cried out in pain, as it dawned on him what his assailant had done.

In one last attempt, he spun his entire body with his blade twisting in the air. It went through his attacker. His attacker seemed to be, in a luminous green shimmering coat. The Betrayer's body began to feel paralyzed. The assassin's blade had gouged deep into a nerve in his spine. The blade dropped from his hand as he soon began to lose his grip. His flaming cloak of fire faded away. The assassin's curved blade though began to burn fiercely. Helpless was the Betrayer as he watched the blade slash towards his face. The searing blade deeply gashed into his eyes. The burning sensation was unbearable. He screamed in pure agony as the flame singed the soft tissue in his eyes. His world suddenly became dark. Losing the strength to stand, he fell to the floor. He could still feel the blade scathing his eyes. He heard the sword being placed into its hilt, and footsteps of the assailant start to become more distant. In one last desperate attempt he grabbed the cloak of his attacker, and tried to tug.

He did not know he did so, but in the back of his mind he was hoping that the murderer would at least give him the sweet release of death from his pain. Nay, instead he felt a sharp gouge in his hand and heard the tearing of fabric. He lost all feeling of life from his hand, as it fell lifeless to the floor. His consciousness was slowly fading, yet the cloth remained firmly gripped into his hand. He was left alone, forsaken on the soft grass. He savored the feeling, for he thought he might never live to feel it again. He was alone, and would die alone.

Fate was not as kind to him, however. Fate mocked him, by keeping him alive and robbing him of his vision forever. He does not remember what happened after, as most of it is a blur. He does remember the mocking whispers, at night that he hears. The whispers of his captors echo in his mind. Like the beat of his heart, the chanting is rhythmic and never-ending. He had succumbed to a few wounds, and hated himself for it. It seems peculiar, but the memory of his imprisonment appears to be, of two types. He remembers a female warden calling him a Betrayer and throwing him inside, yet he also remembers being condemned by a heavily-clad in armor Knight.

_Sent into exile I was, for as a traitor I was portrayed  
But the truth is that it was I who was truly betrayed. _

_Vengeance... will be mine..._


	13. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 : Reflections of the Inner Mind**

_Time seems to bestill the reflections, the reflections in the throes of our mind  
Gripped are we by its power, our choice, and its will, are but intertwined_

_Where am I...? _

Darkness surrounded her from all corners. Her basic instinct was that of fear, but she seemed more dazed and confused than terrified. She attempted to lift herself, but felt far too exhausted. She ran her hand across the wall on her right, trying to find a way out. Suddenly, she felt her wrist being jerked back. She ran her fingers across her left hand and came across a cold, metallic cuff clasped tightly in place. She was utterly dumbstruck, and was having trouble trying to absorb this all in. Where this place was, was a bizarre mystery. Just as she began to ponder over her last memories, a dim light suddenly began to faintly glow from across the room. Her vision slowly began to adjust, to the subtle black darkness.

A cold, yet eerie voice whispered "_Alexiaaa..."_

Alexia opened her mouth to speak, but not a word came out.

The voice echoed after what seemed like an eternity, "_Alexiaaa..."_

Alexia stammered, "Who...Who are you?"

The reverberating immediately ceased. The silence was deafening. Alexia was beginning to feel un-easy, perhaps even scared. She had stared into the face of death several times before yet fear was a feeling she rarely ever experienced. Suddenly, the floor beneath her began to faintly luminate. The dim light across the room began to radiate a deep crimson hue. Alexia's surroundings were starting to become more visible. The walls around her were smeared with dried blood. Parts of the wall were left un-touched, and had strange runic markings engraved into them. The size of the room was visibly small, and the cryptic writing appeared to be demonic in nature. It was still too dark to see what was written, but Alexia was more than familiar with what was written. She focused on each word, and tried to read them out one by one.

_The blazing flame shall never cease, its fury shall leave you in wonder  
Learn to control the flame you must, or your soul shall be torn asunder_

As soon as the last word left her tongue, the ground beneath began to rumble and shake. Her cuffs shattered like pieces of glass. The rhythmic pulses of crimson, turned into rapid flashes of an intense orange. The runic markings began to shine, and they appeared to start jutting out from the wall. An oozy black viscous liquid began to flow from cracks in the wall in-between the runes. Instantaneously, the pulsating ceased and the dim light darted rapidly across the room. It dropped into the center of the room to reveal a large circle, with the symbol of "_Dara'ghuman_", which is "_Destruction"_ in Demonic tongue. The light dissipated, and its place appeared a small ember. The blackish liquid now began to envelop the ember. It ignited, and lit the room in an array of bright purple and blue.

The flames spread like wildfire across the stone floor. The flames began to surround the circle and erupted out a spiral, columnar pillar of fire from the center. The markings began to emit a bright white light. The sheer intensity of the light began to burn into her eyes. It was then she felt a searing pain into her legs. The flames had made their way dangerously close. She pressed herself at the wall and began to frantically claw at it. She shrieked in agony as the flame licked at her delicate skin. She clawed desperately, but to no avail. Her skin began to crack and peel away. She felt excruciating pain as the flame began to consume her. She began to cough out blood in torrents. She screamed in agony, and squeezed her eyes shut to somehow relieve herself of this intense torture. She clawed at the wall one last time, and prayed that she would be saved from this torment.

As if granting her wish, the pain stopped almost immediately. She opened her eyes and peered at her surroundings. Slowly, it dawned on her where she was and what had happened. There was no fire, no runic markings, nor any bright lights. She was lying next to a bail of hay on the floor of a Brackwell farmhouse. On the other side, the only companion she had left. She looked at her arm only to see the same circular insignia of "_Dara'ghuman_" marked onto it. The skin around the mark seemed to be singed, almost as if it was burnt into her skin. Bizarrely, she could still taste the lukewarm blood in her mouth. Her vision was still a bit fazed, but her surroundings were slowly beginning clearer.

It had been two days since she had fled the place she once called home. She had slaughtered the guards that once protected her, and nearly killed one she called friend. Her master stayed behind, while she dashed into the secluded forest with the sole friend she had made inside. She had tended to his wounds for weeks preceding the departure. He had nearly died in battle in an ambush by the Sentinel. The Drow Ranger had horribly butchered his body, and pelted her arrows deep inside several patches of his skin. Even though he was a more "modified" abomination as compared to several others and even created by one of the High Necromancers, he could not survive the assault. He was brought back, and taken under the care of Kel'thuzad himself. Alexia was appointed to tend to his wounds while Kel'thuzad tried resurrecting its soul. Kel'thuzad envisioned the un-tapped power that the "abomination" possessed so secretly, he engaged in a project to transfer demonic energies in order to resurrect the abomination, stronger, faster, and much more powerful. Using Alexia's knowledge of the demon magi, the abomination was taught to control a very poisonous toxin in the air around it. It also gained the ability to gain knowledge of all the memories, spells, and abilities that a creature he assimilated into his body possessed.

However, as he was brutally injured from the battle the restoration process had taken weeks. Finally, 2 days ago, she ran off with him. She escaped for their lives, for freedom. She had desired it for so long, but still could not help but feel compelled to her master. A part of her wished to run away and live in peace, but the other desired to re-pay the debt she owed to the Lich. They eventually reached the harbor at Ratchet, and slipped into one of the freight carriers. It led them across them distant shores, not knowing where. Menethil Harbor turned out to be the final destination, where they were discovered. Pudge and Alexia slaughtered every single person that stood in their way, for that was the price of freedom. The lives of the harbor's residents seemed miniscule as compared to their freedom. Like fugitives they fled into the dense marshes beyond the walls of the city, and desperately refuge. They ran as far as their legs could carry them, even until the sun rose and set once more. At the dawn of the next day, they reached a lonely farm deep within the heart of Elywynn forest.

They needed a place to hide, and could not take the risk of being found. If discovered, the Scourge would surely find out in a matter of time where they hid, and would put them to death for treason. They did the unthinkable, and slew every civilian they could find. Every man, woman, and child was butchered. Their freedom was far too important, and its price was far too valuable. The skies thundered overhead, and the pools of blood began to wash away by the rain.

She crept past her sleeping "mate" she had forced to bring along. A victim of a sick experiment "Pudge" was. He was a normal man, just like her. But, they injected his body with vaccines and toxins of the like. The poorly stitched gaping hole in his stomach clearly indicated how little they cared for his well-being, Alas; he was just their toy to do their bidding. His body went through mutation, his frame and size was blast completely out of proportion. He was changed forever, and cursed with a hunger to constantly feed. They named him Pudge, symbolizing his break from the mortal world and metamorphosis into an abomination. He was the first abomination created from a single corpse, unlike others which required several stitched together.

Alexia elegantly stepped past the partially chewed pile of bones that lay next to Pudge. She slowly walked up to the barn doors, unbolted the lock and thrust the massive doors open. They had been here only a few hours, yet they had begun to feel so comfortable. She stepped into the rain, and just gazed at a place afar. Lost in her thoughts, she just stood there silent. Pudge stirred in his sleep, all the while tossing and turning. Alexia stood un-moving, and just thought deeply.

_This is it; this is how my life is going to end. Living in fear and running from death itself. Is this how it is always going to be?_

Pudge suddenly woke with a start. He saw Alexia in the rain, and took slow yet long steps towards her. Almost as if reading her mind, Pudge put a thick arm around her and spoke in a slow slurry speech, "You, no worry pretty lady. Never happen, it never happen."

A smile formed onto her lips, and just silently acknowledged. Both just quietly stared at the fast-paced rain falling down from the dark sky. Just then, a silhouette of a figure appeared to be coming towards them. He appeared to be carrying a long oak staff, neatly carved at the ends. A large pack was visible on his back, with a small keg fixated at the ends. The rain absorbed into its soft coat of fur. Its coat shone in a lustrous color of white. It stood on its hind legs, in a deadly pose with its weapon aimed directly at the two of them. Dressed in black, the Pandaren stood before them, standing menacingly.

While glaring at them angrily, it spoke, "So much innocent bloodshed you have caused. I won't let such savagery go unpunished. Prepare yourself, you wretched beasts. You will not walk away alive from this massacre."


	14. Chapter 11 Act I

**Chapter 11: The Tales of a Lone Wanderer**

_A lone wanderer I am, wandering, and searching across distant lands for an eternity _

_Not knowing what I truly seek, I keep longing to find what it is that will bring me serenity_

**Act I : Memoirs of an Exiled**

_It seems aeons have come and gone, ever since that fateful day  
The day that changed my life, the moment that left me in dismay_

The cold air blew harshly into his soft coat of fur. In the rain he stood, gazing at the dark sky above. The sun lay hidden behind dark, clustered clouds. He gently took his hat off, and fiddled with it in his paws. The rain was coming down fast, with a howling wind to match. There were visible signs of exhaustion, and depression on his face. The Pandaren took a deep sigh and treaded lightly past the tiny puddles of water which had collected in ditches. He held his staff dearly close, never leaving his sight off it for a second. Every now and then, his eyes darted into the forest searching for something that kept gnawing at the back of his mind. The final words of his brother would remain scarred forever in his memory...

"Remmy, do you think we'll be able to find her?" said Mangix in a grim tone.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. However, every second we waste worsens our predicament." spoke Remmy in a mournful voice.

With a great sigh, Mangix heaved his keg of ale onto his back. They had been searching for hours now, with no sign of Jen anywhere. While Remmy quickly put out the fire, Mangix went closer to examine the cavern walls. Jen, the elder sage's daughter was last seen wandering outside the Cave of Shadows. There had been not a trace of her since daybreak. Some say they could hear her screaming from the cave, while some say that they saw her ghostly form. The sun had long disappeared beneath the horizon, its glorious luminosity masked by the shadowy glimmer of the rising moon. It was his ever helpful brother Remmy who decided to lend his aid in the search for Elder Hamaan's "pride and joy".

_Remmy... must you always meddle in affairs that don't concern you?_

Mangix felt an odd sort of comfort whenever he was in Remmy's presence. Perhaps it was the brotherly bond they shared, or perhaps it was the warmth of his caretaker. He had never met his parents, and Remmy was the only family he remembers. A shadow suddenly stirred in the dark. The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood, and his feet felt as they had melded with the stony floor. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was just Remmy carrying the lantern.

"Lets get a move on Brother, time is of the essence" said Remmy impatiently

"Of course, it's not like we should be waiting for daylight." said Mangix sardonically.

Remmy just gave him a cold, hard stare and walked past. Mangix hurriedly scurried towards Remmy desperately trying to keep up. He was never the athletic type; let alone used to strenuous hiking. They streaked past the rocky walls, quickly scanning any possible passages they might find. Like clockwork, Remmy never stopped and continually moved. Mangix however, panting and heaving tried to keep up with Remmy's quick pace.

A shrill high pitched scream suddenly broke the silence. It was easily audible, but completely impossible to understand. Just as Mangix opened his mouth to speak, Remmy darted off into the pitch darkness. Mangix, tried as he might, could not keep up with Remmy. He came to a steep drop directly in front of him. In his haste, the Pandaren lost his footing and tumbled into the abyss below. He landed with a thud on the cold, hard slabs of stone. He shifted his massive weight onto his massive paws, and strained to lift himself up. He silently muttered a curse under his breath, and quickly got up to his feet.

"Brother! Help me!" said a distant voice. Mangix heaved his keg onto his back, and hurried in the direction of the voice. A dim light came into his view from the pitch black. It quickly darted from corner to corner, and abruptly disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

Mangix darted franticaly towards his brother's voice. He dashed past the long and twisting caverns and stone archways. Soon he reached upon a tremendous chasm. He pulled out his oak staff off his back, and quickly scanned his surroundings. Seeing no movement, he contently placed his staff back in its place. He squinted a little into the void below, and noticed a fading light deep below in the vast trench which could possibly been emitting from his brother's lantern. How far the drop was, he was not sure. Placing both arms around the round Keg he always carried, he lugged it off his back, flipped open the lid and let its contents pour out. The ale nearly gushed out, and flowed down the steep walls.

Shutting the lid, he began to prepare himself. He hated doing this, but he was left with no choice. The Pandaren dove into his spiritual mind, and centered on his hidden energy. He closed his eyes and went deep into meditation. Mangix focused on that faint amount of energy, hardly there, yet locked secretly within. This hidden power the Elders called "Ki Energy." Only a talented few could manipulate this energy and that only after being given special training. Mangix was said to have great potential, but he neither cared of heeded their constant urges to train his so called "hidden power." Nevertheless, Remmy forced upon him his knowledge over the elements of fire, earth and storm or rather as the Elders called it; _Firaya, Gaya_, and _Inuya_.

Tried as he might, Remmy was largely unsuccessful in his teachings. Mangix was a stubborn one, and ignored nearly all of his lessons. Remmy, disheartened yet annoyed, continued his lessons hoping to change his brother for the better but alas, his stubborn resolve could not be shaken. There was only one particular technique out of all of Remmy's lessons which intrigued him. It was the ability to combust the air particles in an area, and then ignite it according to his will. Such an art was difficult to master, but with time Mangix was able to control this spell of Firaya in his own way. However, practice never always went perfect and he would occasionally let plants and houses catch fire leaving Remmy to compensate for the damages. Remmy was always there for Mangix whenever he needed him, whether it be a brotherly role, or be it the role of a guardian.

A sudden jolt of energy burst though his body, and a spark flickered from his paws. Mangix concentrated much harder now, but this time he ran his paw across his tongue. The energy instantaneously rushed through his veins, growing in power every second yet burning him from within. The energy had started taking its toll on Mangix's stamina, but he persevered. He quickly cocked his head back, and let the energy charge upwards. He jerked his head forward, and let loose a mighty breath of intense flames. The dancing flames sifted through the air and just barely hovered above the viscous liquid. They collapsed onto the floor, and lit the ale ablaze. The flames quickly spread, and sped down the steep incline at a rapid pace.

The whole cavern was easily visible now. Mangix quickly side-stepped to avoid the flames from touching his hind-legs. Not too far from his left, he spotted a rope tightly bound around a massive boulder. He gave the boulder a quick shove to see if it was firmly placed. Next he tugged onto the rope to confirm if it was fastened securely. Admiring the handiwork of his brother, he quickly got onto his knees in order to climb down the rope. He gave one last peek at the intricate folds and knots he brother had so skillfully done. With both paws steadily on the rope, he shinnied down quickly to the dark depths lay beneath. The flames along the side of the wall had already begun to die out. Mangix cheerfully thought to himself, "_Should've used more alcohol._"

It was not soon after that his feet touched solid ground. After staring at the grandeur of the massive walls he had just climbed down from, he bellowed with laughter. Each laugh reverberated several times before it showed any time of growing faint. Mangix quickly grew quiet, and red with embarrassment. Nonetheless, he walked towards the dim light he thought to be a lantern. As he continued further across, he began to note that the pathway became narrower until it reached a point nearly impassable. He reached for his oak staff and held it in defiance against what may lie in the murky darkness. A high pitched shriek suddenly started him and caused him to lose his footing. With great dexterity he restored his balance but desperately tried to keep his staff from falling off the edge. He reached outwards, only to fumble it out of his hands and watch it drop below. He grumbled in frustration, but decided eventually to proceed onwards with caution.

_Strange...why haven't I heard the staff land yet? Am I going insane? Oh Remmy... where are you?_

The pathway opened up into what appeared to be a small cove. As Mangix entered, a cool breeze swept over him. Strangely though, it did not feel pleasant. It felt more as if someone had scraped a bag of ice against his spine. Trying to shake off the feeling, he entered the cove. What he saw next, shocked him to his very core. There stood Remmy, a staff held high against a ghostly specter grinning sadistically at him. Remmy appeared to be looking firm, yet scared at the same time. Mangix's eyes however, were fixated on the creature. Its ghostly and unearthly presence luminated the entire cave in an eerie white glow. Blood dripped from its fang like teeth.

The entire cave was rumbling as it darted speedily across the room. For something so gigantic and massive it moved unusually quickly. Suddenly, it stopped in mid-air and gazed at Mangix with its bloodshot eyes. It spoke in a slow yet hissing voice, "His soul has been marked by the Curse of Shadows"

It licked its lips in pleasure as it crumbled a part of the cavern ceiling. Several of the rocks were dangerously close to crushing Remmy beneath. Remmy tried to jump away, but a rock burst from the ground and gouged his leg. He rolled awkwardly on the floor. Clutching his leg, he writhed and wailed in pain. The rocks were about to collapse onto Remmy when the creature stopped them from falling. Instead of crushing Remmy, it seemed to just stare at him. There was not even a tinge of emotion in his face. It looked vile, and heartless. It turned towards Mangix once more.

It spoke in a harsh tone, "Your soul shall be marked as well. There is nothing that can keep you from me. You are mine alone, do you hear me. YOU ARE MINE!"

The ground rumbled, and the cavern walls began shaking with ever increasing intensity. The color drained from Mangix's face as he continually stared at the atrocious beast. Unmoving, yet trembling stood Mangix, a ghostly pale of his complexion.

"Brother... help me!" came a feeble voice that brought him back to reality.

Instead of doing what his conscience told him to, he took a step back.

"Brother... I need your help... please..." spoke Remmy in a trembling voice.

Horrified, and utterly dumbstruck, Mangix began to hastily turn around. Shamelessly, he darted away. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. All the while he darted across the cove; he could hear Remmy's pleads for help and the Beast mocking him with laughter. Remmy's wails of agony began to echo in his head, and flashes of his memories flooded his mind. Guilt over-filled him as he abandoned the last of his family, yet he never looked back. Tears filled his eyes as the cries of pain grew louder, but he did not dare to stop. He just run as fast as he could, and never once looked back.

_Remmy... I'm sorry..._


	15. Chapter 11 Act II

**Act II: An Unwelcome Return**

_I left him for dead… the man to whom everything I owe…  
Oh dear brother forgive me… forgive me for leaving you so…_

_Where am I..._

Darkness surrounded Mangix from all sides. It was a dead silence. Mangix quickly began to feel around the floor to find out where he was. The ground felt hard, and jagged. His heart was pounding, and his pulse was racing. His memory was completely blurred, and his body felt exhausted. The Pandaren's hand reached for his staff, but to his surprise it was not there. As a matter of fact, his keg of Ale was even missing. The last thing he remembered was running. He had run for his life, but from what he wondered.

_Wait... I remember seeing daylight... what am I doing here?_

He felt around the floor once more to somehow find an exit to this vile place. He could actually smell the stench of death here. He tried to get up onto his feet. No sooner had he lifted himself, did he hear a loud splash nearby. His ears stood upright, and tried to track what was moving. A "hissing" sound soon followed. Mangix felt a cold, chilly breeze sweep over him. The Pandaren suddenly had a feeling of Deja Vu. A dim light began to materialize in front of Mangix. It slowly began to spread in all directions, and take the shape of a person Mangix knew all too well.

The Pandaren's voice croaked, "Remmy?"

The ghostly figure opened its mouth to speak, "Remmy? Who is this Remmy you speak of?"

Appalled, yet scared Mangix desperately tried to form words, "Remmy... it's ... me... your brother..."

A sneer formed across the apparition's face, "Remmy is no longer among us."

Mangix lashed out in pure anger, "He's not dead you hear me! He isn't! He can't be!"

"But he is... and it's all your fault"

That last statement hit a bit of a sour note. Anger boiled in the Pandaren's veins. His voice bellowed across the caverns, "No, he isn't! You can not take him!"

Like an enraged beast, he pounced on the specter with sheer raw carnage. His claws tore the spiritual being to shreds. Blood spilled as he ravaged his claws in his bestial fury. The Pandaren began to lose the last vestiges of any control of his actions. His mind was no longer his own, his will no longer under his control. Mangix brutally slashed at him with his razor sharp claws. He raised his right paw up high, and then tried to dig it into the spiritual body before him. His hand struck cold, hard stone. To his astonishment, the apparition had disappeared. He raised himself to his hind-legs, and quickly scanned his environment for movement.

A calming voice spoke out from the darkness, "Do not fear me, it is I brother."

Tears of joy began to stream down Mangix's furry face as he dashed towards the sound of the voice.  
It was none other than the ghostly specter he had seen earlier. His mouth was gaping wide, even though strangely he did not seem as scared as he did last time. Rather than the menacing look it gave him in their lost encounter, it was more... peaceful. It felt almost like...

_No... It can't be... it... can't be...you ... can't be..._

The ghost began to slowly take the silhouette of a horse, and transfigure itself into a centaur like pose. It shone a stark white from its spectral body, which seemed to emit a soothing aura. Its lips curled, and it spoke to Mangix in a calm comforting voice, "Take heart young one. Do not be afraid"

Joy turned to horror as it began to dawn on him what had happened. The stories he had been told as a youngling, were now becoming a reality. The tales spoke of a wandering soul in constant torment. Always restless, always searching for the soul to set it free. Once it found its victim, it would torture its soul with its own, and form the victim's spirit as a part of its own. Eternal torment would be the fate of the spirit, until the Tormented Soul found yet another host to feed upon.

_Remmy... what have I done..._

The spirit that stood in front of him smiled peacefully at him, as if nothing had happened.  
A voice inside his head began to scream wildly. It screamed of how Mangix was a coward, of how he should have tried to help. It was too late now... Remmy had become one with the Tormented Soul.  
The ghostly figure bowed its head down slightly, as if to mourn. It then spoke in a voice that made the Pandaren shudder with fear,

_"Torment around me. Torment in me. Torment be with me. And let us conquer our foes. They do not understand our pain. Do you? No. And for that, we shall make them feel the torment... The torment that inhabits my soul..."_

_The Curse of Shadows... _

Another voice was suddenly heard in the mind of the Pandaren, "_And you are next..."_

Before the Pandaren could react, the ground beneath him began to rumble and shake. A single spiral of fire began to dart in the room around him. The air begun to saturate, and feel heavier than ever. The spirals of flames danced over and under each other in perfect harmony. Suddenly, the air around them ignited and raised a column of fire around him. The flames begun to take the shape of a helix, and twisted and bended around each other. A sudden burst of energy ruptured the ground beneath, and the cavern began shaking wildly. Erratic tremors flooded the cave now and immediately then flares imploded around him. Bursts of flame energy exploded around him, until he could feel the fire consuming him. The flames were digging deep, and he was too terrified to move. He stared long and hard into the Tormented Soul's eyes, silent and unmoving.

_Forgive me Remmy... forgive me..._

Mangix roared in agony as his fur finally ignited. Instead of fighting the pain, he succumbed to it. He dropped to the floor, exhausted and weak. He closed his eyes, and waited for death to take him away.  
Instead, he felt a drop of water fall upon his face. He opened his eyes, and could hardly believe what he saw. He was outside in the real world again, the Land of the Living, the Land of Pandaria. Dazed and confused he scurried to his feet and tried to make sense of all that had happened.

_Had it just been a dream?_

Yes, a dream it must have been. None of it had ever happened, it could not have. Of course, Remmy was not gone. He was probably back at Camp Moualagasha waiting for him. He gazed to his right, and across the horizon was the clear contrasting shape of a cave entrance. To his left lay charred coals, perhaps from a burning campfire. The sun shone brightly above, and was a welcome change to the gloomy nightmare he thought he had. At least, he thought it was a nightmare.

Even though a voice in the back of the Pandaren's head kept telling him otherwise, he refused to believe the reality of what he had seen. Mangix quickly combed the area for any of his missing possessions, but as luck as had it; neither his staff nor his keg could be found. He groaned and started walking on the path back to Camp Moualagasha.

_Perhaps Ill find some answers there_

Little did he know that he answers he would find were to entirely different questions.

Mangix pushed through the bushes and shrubs, never stopping to find his bearing. He knew this island like the back of his hand. After all, he had been on the Isle of Pandaria since a cub. Time had come and gone so quickly that it had become hard to keep track. So many memories there were, some joyous, some solemn. He treaded through the jungle wild growth, and eventually came upon a clearing. He darted across the clearing to the lake on the other side, and swam as quickly as he could. He wanted to waste not even a second, for the worst might have happened. Once he reached the other side of the lake, he finally came upon the mountain pass leading into valley of his village. A cool breeze suddenly swept over him, giving him that same eerie feeling he'd encountered before. With a lump in his throat, Mangix crept through the pathway taking heed of any subtle changes around him.

_Camp Moualagasha, at last. _

He had finally arrived, but to his astonishment, the guards were nowhere to be seen. As he walked down the trail leading to the heart of the village, he stepped into something "wet". There, beneath him lay a fresh trail of blood. It appeared to be from a struggle as the victim's blood was smeared almost as if he were dragged down the path. Mangix shuddered at the very thought of what might have happened, and proceeded with the utmost of caution.

_Where is everyone?_

What normally was a hustling village seemed a ghostly vacant today. Not a person could be seen, nor any sound could be heard. Mangix's ears suddenly shot upwards. He could hear something, barely audible, from the far side of the village just over the hill. As he got closer, the inaudible sounds became chanting whispers. His eyes suddenly grew wide with alarm when he noticed more than half the village residents were present. Women, children, even the Elders were standing there.

_Why everyone crowded around the Hill of Justice...but... this is is where they...execute those who go against the Elders... What's going on?_

As soon as Mangix stepped up the incline, all the Pandarens shifted their gaze to them. Their stares quickly broke into quiet murmurs, and subtle pointing. Many gawked at him with disgust. Appalled by their strange behavior, Mangix scanned the scene that lay ahead of him. They were sure enough gathered around for a witnessing a slaughtering, the village's executioner, Rayanor, was lingering nearby with the "Sword of Justice" held firmly in his hands. Upon closer inspection, he noticed speckles of blood around the edges. Mangix shifted uneasily while peering at the glinting razor sharp blade before him, and acknowledging its deadly intent.

It was Elder Hamaan who finally spoke, "You're too late."

Stunned by his seemingly random remark, Mangix inquired, "Late for what Elder?"

He lowered his head slightly and spoke gravely, "Remmy is not among us. I'm afraid he..."

Right then, something changed inside Mangix. He couldn't tell what it was, but something inside him was changed. Suddenly, life had no purpose. Life was meaningless, nothing mattered anymore. The world began to blur around him, and there was only one thought in his mind.

_Salvation..._

The voices in his head began to grow, and become louder with each passing second. Elder Hamaan was still speaking, but Mangix could barely make out what he was saying. His head began to throb, and his world was spinning. His mind focused on what it was the voice was saying...

_You belong to me...Obey me!_

Like an enraged wildebeest, he pounced on Elder Hamaan. Clawing and scratching, trying to inflict any physical pain he could. His mind blocked out the screaming of "Demon" and crying of "Possessed" from the crowd around him. He felt energy surging into his veins, he felt powerful... and hungry. His intention was clear, and the death of those around him would be his salvation. He felt sharp jabs into his soft skin, and piercing into his delicate flesh. He persevered, and continued to bore his claws in deeper. His breaths became slower, and his strength was already fading. He sank his sharp teeth into the Elder's neck with clear precision, and then swung his head backwards while snapping his massive jaws shut. The Elder's screams of pain ceased, and he lay silent in a puddle of his own crimson blood.

The Pandaren let out a huge bestial roar, and turned to his next victim. Blood oozed from his skin, but he did not care. His eyes fixated at Rayanor, and gave him a painful stare. The white drained from Rayanor's face as he began to realize what was about to happen. Mangix flung all those that had begun to try to sub-due him. Mawing and slaying all those who stood in his path, Mangix began to charg towards Rayanor, his deadly claws flashing the light of the morning sun. Rayanor swung blindly at the crazed Pandaren with his massive blade, and it struck through flesh and bone. The Pandaren screamed in utter agony as it crushed through bones, but his intention remain unphased. He raised his massive paw to block the next incoming strike, and made a slashing motion at Rayanor's face.

_Salvation for you... my brother_


	16. Chapter 11 Act III

**Act III : A New Resurrection**

_Reborn from the Mark of Shadows, resurrected from hope and despair  
How come we are the ones who have to see our loved ones die?_

Thunder rumbled overhead and a flash of lightning lit up the dark night sky. Hours of traveling had taken its toll on his stamina. Exhausted and feeble, he dropped to his knees. He landed on the soft wet earth beneath and gripped his staff strongly. A tear swept down his face of fur as he lay shaking in the bitter cold. His brother's last words scarred his memories, and echoed continually in his mind. They haunted his dreams, and gripped his mind in the day. He clutched the staff that once belonged to his brother and tried his hardest to suppress painful sobs. The bulky beast wept at its current predicament. The burden of murder rested on his shoulders. Not a day had passed since the savagery, nay, his savagery. Not a soul had survived the brutal carnage, not even he...

Blood seeped out of gaping wounds, and stained his fur in a crimson red. The atrocious beast collapsed to the floor, barely conscious. Its fur slowly became drenched with the blood of those he had spilled around him. A dead silence had taken over the peaceful camp. He breathed heavy gulps of air, struggling to avoid breaching the barriers of the spiritual world.

_Salvation...Salvation...have I finally achieved it?_

"Far from it Brother, far from it." spoke a cheerful familiar voice.

Mangix tried to form a smile, but rather he began to violently cough when he attempted to do so. Blood spattered on the floor, but he managed to chuckle weakly. Every bone in his body ached, every muscle brought him agony, and even the slightest movement brought intense pain with it.

With great difficulty the Pandaren spoke, "There's no need to mock me now. Let me be at peace, Brother. Let me die a peaceful death... must you torment me so?"

Mangix turned his head upwards, expecting to see his brotherly figurine standing headstrong ahead, but strangely there was no one there. All the bodies and all of the spilt blood had just vanished. The hill was secluded now, with only a lone Pandaren lying cold on the floor. The pain had ceased, and the aches were no more. The sky had begun to darken overhead. Just as he began to lift himself up, the skies rumbled. Dark clouds had settled, oddly.

"Why spill the blood of the innocent, Brother. Why all this senseless violence?" said a voice which could be seemingly heard overhead.

Anger began to quell up in the Pandaren once more, however, fatigue overpowered his emotions. There was no pain, but exhaustion was still there. He fell to his knees, in a sense submitting to the voice he heard. His bulky frame slid across the grassy earth beneath. The Pandaren corpse ahead, stood forth and slowly walked towards him. Mangix's mouth gaped open in sheer amazement, as it dawned on him what had happened. Mangix rose to confirm his doubt.

_It can't be... but... you... can't... be... how can you be me? Surely I've gone insane!_

What appeared to be an apparition of himself, began to chant in a melancholy tone,

_"Torment around me.  
Torment in me.  
Torment be with me.  
And let us conquer our foes.  
They do not understand our pain.  
Do you?  
No.  
And for that,  
We shall make them feel the torment...  
The torment that inhabits my soul..."_

Mangix responded fiercely, "_What is it you want me from me! Why... ... why won't you let me be! Why must you torment me so! Why can't you just let me go...?"_

There was sheer raw emotion in his voice, intensified and empowered by the sorrow of his expression.

_"Close your eyes..."_ it spoke in a harsh tone.

Reluctant but afraid, Mangix did as he was told. His pulse quickened, and his heartbeat increased dramatically. Beads of sweat began to form, and his head felt suddenly lighter. For a moment, he felt as if he was being torn from within. His memory began to fade, and his thoughts began to vanish. The Pandaren's mind was under excruciating pain. His legs began to give way. Just as he was about to land on the ground, a cool crisp breeze swayed over him. He landed on soft, damp earth.

A comforting voice could now be heard, _"If you truly wish to be set free, seek the one who bears the knowledge of Dara'ghuman. Few such reside in this world of ours now, but nonetheless, they do exist. Do not let the Curse of Shadows cloud your judgment. Abstain from hate and anger. You only feed its presence, and allow it to have a greater hold over you. If you truly wish to be set free... seek Dara'ghuman..."_

Thunder rumbled in the sky above. Mangix hesitated, but finally opened his eyes. Confused and dazed, he appeared to be in a different place altogether. Trees replaced the rugged shrubs that once covered the hill he stood on. Darkness enveloped the sky above, and encroaching vines creeping along the massive canopies impaired his vision of the surroundings. The ground beneath was covered in luscious green blades of grass, trailing side by side the bushy overgrowths around. The earth beneath felt damp, and the air felt heavy with moisture. He heaved himself up onto his hind legs, and scanned his surroundings quickly. Somewhere not too afar, a high pitched shrill could be heard. Too faint to be audible, Mangix slouched with his back up against a tree trunk.

The Pandaren pondered over his predicament. His Keg of Ale was strangely fastened to his back as if it had always been. He was now in a foreign land, where he could lose himself quite easily. He combed the Isle of Pandaria as a child many times, but this region he had never seen. Weary and weak, Mangix began to venture into these mysterious forest. Another scream shot through the air, this time much closer. It appeared to be coming from his right, but the Pandaren appeared to ignore it. As he made his way through the thickly clustered groups of trees, the sky bellowed overhead. The first few drops of rain finally fell onto the canopies of the tree tops high above. Slowly they seeped past the leaves, and trailed down the massive trunks. After several hours of trekking through the forest, Mangix eventually came upon a clearing. A cry for help was heard once more, yet it was still very distant.

Immediately silence followed, and only the sound of a light drizzle tapping against the ground was audible. Lay ahead was a crystal clear lake, reflecting the feeble rays of sunlight left. A vast lake separated him from where the scream was last heard. In the center of the glowing waters, lay afloat a long rod-like object. Curious, Mangix scurried to the water's edge. He dove in without hesitation, and quickly paddled to it. As he grew closer, it began to dawn on him what the object was. It was a staff of oak, but no ordinary staff. It surely belonged to Remmy for this was emphasized by the half-crescent moon carvings in the center. Worse still, was that it was stained with dried blood.

This time, more than one scream echoed through the twilight skies, less distant than before. Clutching steadfast the last memoir he possessed of his brother, Mangix swam desperately towards the dying voices. Screams became cries of torment, and utterly agonizing pleas for aid. After such a long lapse of time, Mangix felt a soothing feeling of calmness within himself. Perhaps it was his brother's presence emitting from the enchanted staff, or perhaps it was a momentary return of sanity that brought this feeling. His brother's courage and determination seemed to meld into him. Mangix felt strangely different, but more so relieved than worried.

_Your legacy shalt not die... brother..._

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Somewhere not too afar, two figures, drenched in blood and rainwater, treaded past a pile of corpses. One of them knelt down to mourn the losses. She appeared to be slender, yet sleek in figure. Her face seemed to show signs of trouble and despair. The other was busily munching down his "_meal_". He was rather bulky in frame and had an eerie presence about him. Sure, he was smiling with glee while he was eating a pile of "_meat_" but something about him seemed oddly unsettling. The female silhouette beckoned the larger figure with a motion of her hand, and the large one listened obediently. He followed her into an enormous barn house, where she promptly gave one last look at the massacre outside, and then bolted the massive doors shut. 

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The Pandaren had been traveling hopelessly for a while now. The sun had all but disappeared, and the gentle drizzle had become a vicious downpour. Mangix had lost all but his desire to fight against himself, and his faith was slowly turning away from hope and reaching out to despair. He was in a strange land, unknown and foreign to his eyes.

_Keep a strong grip on yourself... the voices are not far... perhaps they can help me... once I help them... Perhaps they know of Dara'ghuman... _

The Pandaren tried to recall the stories the Elders once told him. The memories felt hazy, but they were still present in his mind nonetheless. It was near a fire, perhaps in times of winter that he was told. They were alone, just he and Elder Hamaan.

The tiny Pandaren scuttled around the fire trying to keep warm. Elder Hamaan on the other hand, had a twinkle in eyes, seemingly hiding something. He beckoned Mangix to sit close to him, for he had something important to tell him.   
_"Firaya, Gaya, and Inuya. You've been told more than once about the 'Trio Elementa'. My dear child, what I tell you now does not go through these walls. It has been forbidden to tell a Pandaren so young of such knowledge, but I feel you are ready. Different, yet unique... you have some kind of hidden talent just waiting to surface. I'm sure Remmy has been generous in his teachings, no doubt?"_

"Yes, Elder Hamaan. He has always been kind----"

"Good. No need to delve too deep into it. No, of course there isn't. Now then, tell me, has Remmy told you of the "Elementa Daralaya?"

"I don't think he---"

"Fine. Then I think it is time. You've been told that there exist only three elements. My dear child, you've been mislead from the cradle until this very day. The 'Trio Elementa' are only a broken memory from our ties with the shamanistic ways. Yes, we once lived like kindred spirits with other races and creeds. Not anymore, no, not anymore. The 'humans' as they call themselves, changed in ways... un-natural. They became bloodthirsty and lusted for magic. The wretched people sought to devour even the slightest source of spiritual essence, which they termed 'Mana'. New ways of manipulation of magic developed forth. 'Arcana' is what they called it. Manipulation of light energy is what they practiced, however, inside it was destroying them. At first 'Arcana', was beneficial, but later it became but a tool for their use in wreaking destruction. 

Our kin were slaughtered, and butchered. But that was not the end of it, no, it was not. New evils were rising, yes, new forms of evil. Hatred and savagery were all but common now. But nay, there were greater evils than mere bad morals. Daralar, demons, were coming. They descended upon the lands, and sought only to please their convictions. Soon, they preached their knowledge to a few humans who willing obeyed them like masters. These were taught the dark arts, magic that we must abstain from. Daralaya, is the element of demons. They sacrifice their own life essence to provide ever-needed sustenance for their techniques. They feed on the blood of the living to stay alive."

"But master I don't understand w---"

"Quiet, I shall tell you when to speak. You listen now, talk later. These dark arts practicers developed cults of their own among whom their own people were worshipped like gods. 'Elementa Dara'ghuman' was the newest of the creation. 'Destruction' is what it was called in its innate form. A fitting name we conjured for their use. Its true meaning was unknown to even then, but it was us who named it. The root 'Dara' is to do with unholy. The 'guh' sound in the middle, is to do with 'Earth', derived from 'Gaya'. Strange though, they never noticed the 'Human' at the very end of it. 'Human' is what we call 'Destruction'. Together, its name was the 'Unholy Destruction of the Earth'.

Pity, they held on to the one word that appeased them. It was with this 'Dara'ghuman's new-found existence did our blinded ancestors find a reason to leave the 'Cursed Lands'. They migrated across distant lands, until they found a place to call their home. They thrived for long generations to come, and lay hidden without a trace to the outside world. Not a Pandaren dared to venture out of the cove, it was too dangerous. There, you know enough. Leave now, Mangix. Remember, not a word leaves these walls."

A very puzzled Mangix acknowledged with a bow of his head, and proceeded to leave the hut.

It was strange to him how Remmy would mention Dara'ghuman. _Perhaps Remmy was aware of the Elder's private lessons. _

Even though the Pandaren was engrossed in his own thoughts, subtle whispers could be heard nearby. He was approaching his destination soon enough, and what he would find there would change his destiny forever.

Signs of civilization finally began to appear. The Pandaren quickly shifted past the harvest fields. They had been recently plowed no doubt, but the crops were left attended. Something was definitely amiss. A ruffle of leaves in a cluster of bushes nearby was caught by the Pandaren's sharp hearing. Gripping Remmy's staff tightly, he crept silently towards the bush. A sudden high-pitched scream completely threw Mangix off balance. His heartbeat raced rapidly as he steadied himself next to the overgrowth.

"We know you're there. You ain't fooling anyone mister." came a timid little voice. 

Startled, Mangix dropped his staff to the ground. Half-embarrassed yet somewhat ashamed, he desperately tried to maintain a stern expression on his face

The Pandaren responded in a hoarse voice, "Show yourself. I mean no harm, unless threatened."

Obediently, the one bearing the voice revealed himself. He was a small lad, dark-haired and shabbily dressed in a brown tunic. Dark rings surrounded his eyes, and freckled covered his face. He was shivering in the cold, but the young boy tried to depict a brave appearance with his headstrong posture, almost as if he was trying to scare the Pandaren.

Mangix heartily laughed after realizing how irrational his fears were. He noticed a subtle movement of the leaves once more, and inquired of the boy, "Who is with you?"

Stuttering the boy responded fiercely, "I'm alone! There's no one else!"

Mangix chuckled at the boy's bravado and firmly commanded, "Tell me, now. I already heard both of you earlier, no use hiding it from me."

Shifting uneasily, the boy quickly bowed and spoke in a voice that was nearly whisper quiet, "I'm Harry. Mister, my sister Isabelle had a great big scare from what happened earlier and... Please don't protest, but she's very frightened."

The Pandaren calmly told him, "I mean no harm. I come to help, for I heard cries of help not too long ago. Tell me, Harry, why are you so far from home? Was there trouble?"

Harry nodded his head solemnly, and grimly spoke, "Two strangers came to our village. One was a lady, the other was... well nothin' like we see around these parts. She was sure dressed strangely. She wore a pretty red robe, and her dark-brown hair swayed in the wind. Excuse me, uhh... sir... you can't blame a lad for liking someone that pretty... even if her friend did all that to us..."

Mangix demanded firmly, "Did what to you?"

Reluctantly he spoke, "Not to us exactly... but to all the village folk... that ... creature...did horrible things..."

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In a place not too far, two weary travelers lay sound asleep on the floor of a barn house. One of them appeared to be having a nightmare, as she tossed and turned wailing in pain. Tears streamed down her face as her dreams continued to haunt her mind. Her eyes then suddenly opened, and she cried no more. Confused, she got up to her feet and walked to the massive door. She unbolted the lock, and stared in awe at the rain descending from the skies. The other one began to stir in his sleep, and soon rose to meet her. She looked at him with a dubious frown, and quickly shifted her attention back to the rain. He whispered into her ear, and she smiled. They then stood shoulder to shoulder, and gazed at nature's blessings showering the earth.

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The Pandaren stepped onto the blood-smeared pathway, holding his staff menacingly. The moonlight shone into the crescent carving, luminating his path. Like a shining beacon into the night, it guided him along the path. Dismembered bodies lay around, with detached limbs and torn away flesh. The scenery was a dead silent, and only the soft downpour could be heard. Across the stony path, stood two silhouettes, gazing intently. Both glared at each other with anger and animosity. After what seemed like an eternity, Mangix finally spoke, "So much innocent bloodshed you have caused. I won't let such savagery go unpunished. Prepare yourself, you wretched beasts. You will not walk away alive from this massacre."

The female took a step forward, but the larger creature motioned for her to stay back. It spoke in a slurry and barely audible voice, "No, you get hurt. Me fight, you get hurt. Me... no...want you to get hurt."  
She lowered her head in acknowledgement and let the beast take a step forward. The mere sight of it made Mangix sick to his stomach. Its appearance was that of multiple rotting corpses sewn together, as if a group of human beings were "melded" into one. He marveled at how intricately woven it was, regardless of how grotesque. The bulky creature had a glint about in its eyes. From underneath its limbs, a delicately shaped ornament was barely visible. The metallic surface of it gleamed in the moon's rays. With one of its four enormous arms, it reached into a large poorly stitched gaping hole in its abdomen, and drew out a large butcher's cleaver, still freshly stained in crimson blood. The creature drew the arm grasping the metallic ornament backwards in a circular arc, and flung it straight at the Pandaren.

Mangix instantly spotted the razor sharp hook even at its unbelievable speed. The Pandaren somersaulted to the right, barely dodging the deadly point. While the metallic chain scraped rapidly across the stone pavement, Mangix seized this opportunity by charging at the beast. With great elegance in his stride and staff held in a lance-like position, Mangix leapt onto a nearby fence, and patiently awaited his foe's next move. Using both his muscular arms, Pudge withdrew his arms backward pulling the hook back at a massive rate. Using his one free limb, he gripped the chain tightly and wound it around his arm. Like clockwork, the chain twirled around his bulky arm until the hook lay suspended a few feet off the ground in his hand. Whipping the chain around like a lasso, he flung it at Mangix with all his might. Mangix quickly dove to the right, and watched in horror as the hook broke through the entire fence and demolished it completely. He shuddered at the thought of the hook actually striking him. Even though the abomination's aim was deadly accurate, the hook itself took a relatively long time to reach. The Pandaren quickly pondered over his options as Pudge wound the chain around his arm once more.

A smile appeared on the Pandaren's face, leaving the abomination confused and in wonder. It lunged the hook once more, destroying all in its path. Mangix quickly darted to the right, and awaited in a crouched position for Pudge's next move. The hook shattered through glass windows and broke through the house's solid walls. Anything in the hook's path was left as a mere pile of rubble, and it was made clear what would happen to anyone caught in its reach. The abomination scowled in anger and pulled its weapon back angrily. The Pandaren immediately lifted the massive keg off its back, and threw it in the direction of the hook. The hook tore through the feeble wood, and latched onto the metal room. Unknown to Mangix, the contents suddenly began gushing out in a line as the oblivious Pudge reeled his chain in.

With sharp reflexes and sheer speed, Mangix rushed towards the abomination. Right before the hook was completely reeled in; Mangix dove at Pudge with both feet forward. He put all his force into his legs, and his aim was true. His paws struck the barrel and forced it towards the abomination's stomach. Pudge wasn't prepared for such an expected feat. He lost complete control over the chain; the hook flew wildly out of control. Mangix propelled himself off the barrel and into the air. He twirled backwards high into the air. The Pandaren gripped his staff strongly, as he plummeted below. He forced the staff vertically downwards and onto the abomination's hook. The massive striking force propelled the hook into Pudge's own abdomen. He cried out in agony as the hook pierced into his own flesh. The keg burst, and let its contents gush out in torrents. Pudge angrily tried to hack at the Pandaren with his cleaver. Mangix gracefully dodged each of the abomination's futile attempts, and neatly jabbed his staff into Pudge's eye sockets as hard as he could.  
The abomination howled in sheer pain as the wood struck into his eyes. It began to swing its cleaver blindly, hoping to strike the Pandaren.

Mangix seized this moment by cocking his head backwards. He let the sudden rush of energy flow through his veins. It coursed madly within him, ready to burst through. The massive energy empowered his very being, and began to sizzle him from within. He opened his mouth, and jerked his head directly towards Pudge's stomach. A bright wave of red and yellow embers flew through the air and towards the abomination's gaping hole. They came into contact with the liquid ale, and instantly ignited it in a dazzling array of blue and red. Pudge screamed as the flame sizzled and boiled its flesh. It dropped its cleaver and ran about wildly trying to douse its flames. Succumbing to the blinding pain, Pudge dropped to the ground cold, slowly letting the fire spread to the surrounding waters. The ale gushed earlier had mixed with the water below, and suddenly caught fire as well. The flames dashed between the cracks of stone at an unbelievable rate, and blocked Mangix's only route of escape.

The Pandaren began to panic, he desperately needed to escape. The flames had spread like wildfire, and lit ablaze the entire surrounding village. He gripped his staff tightly, in hopes of it try to free him. He tried closing his eyes, in desperation of being taken back to Pandaria. No, this was a reality. The fire was real, and the pain that began to grip him was real. The flames licked at his delicate flesh, and it would be a matter of time before he too died. His head was becoming lighter... he was becoming weaker... The fumes of smoke were starting to cloud his vision, and dull his judgment. He looked around in hopes of finding an escape, perhaps an opening in the raging inferno.

His mind was left in utter confusion as he realized that both his assailants were missing. The large creature was nowhere to be seen, and neither was his faithful ally. So lost in his thoughts was Mangix, that he did not notice the large block of ice bash into the side of his head. With his vision steadily blurring, Mangix fell onto the ground. The Pandaren lay unconscious in the cold waters, helpless to stop the raging flames from getting closer...


	17. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Through the Eyes of the Watchful Stranger**

_Unknown to us, our very actions are being noted, and carefully being watched over  
Not a thought is left un-noticed, our very actions on looked by the wandering rover_

"_You mustn't hesitate, your failure in this could very well cost us this war."_

_"I understand, master. I shan't let you down."_

The Assassin lay perched into the shadows, peering down at the wooden huts below. Memories of this place still haunted her. Time had come and gone, but she crouched silently, motionless. Not a soul was in sight, but she could sense the presence of her prey. He was a powerful being, perhaps the most powerful of them all. However, as time slowly passes, power fades, as does the strength to fight back. Life grows feebler, and more fragile, and once love is taken away from it, the being s left as but a shadow of their former self. She would end his suffering tonight; she wouldn't let him continue to live alone. No mercy would be granted this day, just as he had for her.

_"Mortred, do you understand the gravity of this situation? That old fool was growing stronger, yet for the time being is weak. I can feel his strength draining, and if we strike now, then this war can be finished once and for all, right here, and right now. "_

_"Master... Abaddon. I will not let you down."_

_"He already struck down the Lich King. It is only a matter of time before he regains what energy he has left. Furion must not live to see the sight of day tomorrow. If he is able to, be rest assured, I do not tolerate failure. Now, get out of my sight."_

Mortred clutched her dagger's handle tightly. Before today, malice and spite were all she had left to live for. But not today, no, not any longer. Her deceitful ways had proved beyond expectations, and her "master" knew not of what she planned. Betrayal was a feeling she was well accustomed to by now, but this was far beyond that which she could have even begun to fathom. Behind the iron mask that she wore, a fiendish grin began to form. Her elven hearing suddenly detected sudden movement below. Calmly, she faded into the shadows. The surrounding darkness enveloped her completely, until she appeared to be a part of the surroundings itself. A sea of people suddenly flooded the narrow path leading downhill. Races and creeds of all kinds were cluttered together, standing united with their heads lowered mournfully. An eerie sound of a horn was heard, and the large crowd of people began walking. At the far back, two large bear-like creatures carried a large wooden casket. Fixated onto the top lay a T-shaped cross with a crescent moon carved just beneath. A bulb was intricately fastened to the cross, with three protruding branches from the center. The branches extended in the shape of a trident, and on each branch was attached a single broad leaf. Mortred instantly recognized the pattern. The leaves placed in that manner were to show reverence for the passing of a heroic leader. The bulb was a testament to their bravery and courage, and the branches were taken from Nordrassil, the World Tree of Hyjal itself.

Soon the flurry of people moved past, and tranquility had gripped the scenery once more. The Phantom Assassin's gaze shifted towards the lone hut in the corner, with its spiral archways wound around the roof. At first glance, the hut seemed as ordinary as the rest. However, to the observant eye, it was so much more. The craftsmanship of the wooden arches was commendable and even the most minor of indents appeared to be masterfully carved. She recognized this place well, for it was a place she once called home. No matter, the Phantom Assassin had made a decision, and she would not leave with an ounce of remorse. She slowly descended down the tree, taking great care not to reveal herself. As soon as her feet touched the soul beneath, they blended with the environment once more, and her entire being adjusted accordingly. She crept towards the sole window that loomed over to the side, and slowly crawled through the narrow opening. Her mind still dwelled on the events that occurred earlier that day. Her eyes had seen what should not have seen. She had heard what was not meant to be heard. She had done against what she was ordered, and it was her doing that would bring irreversible repercussions that would shake the very foundations of the world itself.

**Four hours ago...**

Mortred gracefully strut through the massive Citadel's corridors. She was alone, and the hallway was a dead silent. The Phantom Assassin look troubled, almost fearful. Her face was unmasked for reasons unknown, and her helm was held tightly between her arms. For a short time, she stood still outside the entrance to a narrow chamber. She hesitantly crept towards the doors without making a sound. She showed great reluctance entering through the pathway and was unmistaken ably quivering with fear. As soon as she entered, she heard a deep-throated voice speak, "Why have you kept me waiting?"

Her head sharply turned into the direction of the bearer of the voice. In his left hand, lay a glowing sword emitting an aura of frost around it. Covered in chainmail from head to toe, he suddenly rose from his seat and began walking slowly towards the Mortred. He let the blade slide onto the floor, and thought of it no more.

She stuttered as she spoke, "Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to keep you lying in-"

"Be silent." interrupted the being abruptly, "Did Lucifer tell you anything?"

Mortred tried desperately to shift her gaze from him as she spoke, "Just that you beckoned me, master Abaddon."

"Good" spoke Abaddon slowly, yet cheerfully. His eyes met hers, and then there was silence once more. He scanned her hazy blue eyes and was seemingly lost in them. Abaddon was apparently searching for something, but the true nature of what he sought was unknown to Mortred. She feared for the worst as was emphasized by the sudden rush of beads of sweat trailing down her soft, pale face.

He ran a glove-clad hand through her blue silky hair. Moonlight that pierced through the throne windows fell upon her, and her features became clearer. He slowly trailed his other hand across her cheek, and hummed a melancholy tune as he did so. Mortred tried to pull away, but she felt a strong grip on her shoulder.

_Don't... please..._

"You seem frightened, my love. It is a joyous time for us, let us not dwell on the past" said Abaddon in a soft voice.

The Phantom Assassin defiantly pulled away from his grip, and spoke in a harsh tone, "You had orders for me"

Confused by her sudden anger, Abaddon spoke in a soothing voice, "Mortred, this isn't like you. Why the rush of hatred?"

Feeling belittled like a child, Mortred responded more firmly than before, "Now is not the time. You had orders for me, stop this."

Abaddon's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but soon shook his head approvingly. His voice had a more commanding tone to it now, "Very well. I believe it is time to restore order to the ranks of the Scourge. The passing of our previous leader was unfortunate, but we should not live in the past. Don't you agree?"

Mortred bit her lip to keep from lashing out. She continually glared at him, a glare so full of malice and hatred that it caused even Abaddon to worry.

After a momentary pause, he continued, "It is time to cleanse our army of Arthas's insurgents. To achieve this, we will need to strike the problem at its roots. In this case, his most loyal servant."

Mortred's eyes suddenly narrowed for she realized where the direction of this conversation was leading to.

His voice was cold and harsh as his final words were uttered, "The Lich is in Arthas's chambers, still mourning. Kill him before he suspects of any treachery."

Mortred bowed elegantly, and turned to leave. She quickly strode towards the exit, completely ignorant of the suspicion she was causing Abaddon. She awkwardly exited without looking back, even for a second glance. The Phantom Assassin lifted her helm onto her head as she quickly walked down the hall. She reached for her dagger, fastened it to her leg strap, and quickly paced towards the flight of stairs ahead. Her mask soon covered her face once more, but she had a task at hand. As she walked up the seemingly never-ending flight of stairs arced upwards in a circular path, she pondered over her predicament. She had a choice to make now, and be the choice wrong or right; ultimately she would be needed no more. So absorbed was she in her thoughts that she did not notice the figure right in front of her. They both collided into each other, and clumsily fell onto the floor. Mortred quickly rose to her feet and stared down at the female lying on the floor.

_Her robe sewn of red fabric reminds of the cult of warlocks. Her long, swaying dark hair reminds me of the High Bourne. Her features however, feels more human than Elf. Is this mere child the powerful apprentice Kel'thuzad spoke of? _

The Phantom Assassin gave her a quick look and tried to recall her name. She gave her a malicious look, and then spoke in a voice that brought shivers to the spine, "Alexia, is it?"

The frail looking girl rose to her feet and responded in a stammer, "Yes."

Not wasting a moment, Mortred briefly spoke, "Lord Abaddon orders you to go to Lucifer. He has a task for you to carry out of utmost importance. After you have done as he has told, you will report to Kel'thuzad and tell him to go to Abaddon's chambers. Is that understood?"

Alexia nodded her head and quickly darted down the stairs. Mortred, pleased, began to walk towards the Lich's chambers.

_Hmm, interesting how I've managed to solve all my problems at once. I've got Alexia doing my task for helping Lucifer for me, and now, the Lich is all alone. Perfect..._

With great haste, Mortred reached the former Lich King's private chambers. She casually hid her dagger from sight and into her armor once more. A smile formed behind the iron mask she wore. Its nature seemed mischievous, almost as if hiding a hidden motive. She stopped right outside the chamber doors and peered inside. The Lich was all alone, and there would be no witnesses for the act she was about to commit. It would be quick, and not a soul would know. She silently stepped into the chamber and gazed at Kel'thuzad's intense meditation. He could not hear her at all, and was deeply absorbed in his own thoughts.

As she stepped into the chamber, her mind was flooded with memories of what had happened earlier. It seemed but a few hours ago, before the events had occurred. She had seen what was not meant to be seen, and that had changed her fate forever. Her memories were scarred with the recurring memories, echoing and screaming deep inside the confines the inner chasms of her mind. She remembered every moment of it, and knew of every act that had happened.

She was melded into the shadows when it had happened. Ordered by the King to carry out a task, she had stubbornly disobeyed, and laid waiting in the shadows. She was there, when it happened. She was there, watching, and hearing from the darkness. She had seen the flash of green lightning, and had seen it crashing through the throne windows. She remembered the King scream is agony as the lightning tore through this armor and sizzled his very flesh. She remembered it all, and what happened after. Mortred had been there when Abaddon walked in. She was there, watching his every move, hearing his every word, and seeing his every action. She had been there, when he lifted Frostmourne off the floor. She had been there, listening to the agonizing pleas of mercy from her King. She had watched in horror as Abaddon raised the sword up high. She watched helplessly, and heard her traitorous beloved utter the words that were etched into her memory. She remembered them well, and despised him for it. Utterly helpless and afraid, she witnessed the breaking of the Prophecy. She was the lone witness of when Abaddon raised his sword, and spoke his final words to the King, "_Succeeding you."_

She cleared her throat and spoke in a loud, clear voice, "King Abaddon demands your presence in his chambers at once."

The Lich spat on the floor and snarled at Mortred. He responded harshly, "Bite your tongue woman, he is not my king."

A smirk appeared on the face of the Phantom Assassin. She said to him sardonically, "Your King, is the one who named him as his successor. It would be best for you to accept that now."

The Lich didn't seem to take this well. He clenched his bony fingers into a crude form of fist. He glared at her angrily while he spoke, "One more word, and I shall make sure to rip that smirk off your face."

Mortred mockingly said, "Ha, you and I both know the only reason you're losing your temper is because the new King demoted you in his ranks and put me in your place. Isn't that right, Lich?"

Kel'thuzad had begun to lose his usual calm composure. Mortred panicked slightly, but quickly controlled herself. It was then Kel'thuzad said to her, "Mortred, I'm warning you if you so much as-"

She quickly interrupted by saying, "If you so much as threat me, the entire Undead Army will hunt you down, and slaughter your precious Alexia. I'll leave you to you and your deceased King. Farewell, Master Lich."

The Lich turned his head towards the gutted corpse that lay simmering on the floor. Mortred then let the calming of the room take hold of her, and slowly melded into her surroundings, until her entire figure lay perfectly camouflaged in the contrasting colors of his throne room.

She backed up towards the shards of glass that lay scattered nearby the shattered throne room window. The wind howled behind her, and she slowly began to whisper. She rhythmically chanted, "_Leave..." _in a soft voice.

Kel'thuzad, suddenly brought himself to reality and tried to listen intently to the voice. His lips moved silently, seeming to ask, "_My king_?"

Mortred then chose to abruptly speak out slightly louder, yet still very softly, "_Leave...you are in grave danger... Leave now!"_

The Lich's eyes grew wide with horror, and he hurriedly hovered out of the chambers.

Mortred silently whispered repeatedly, "_Death shall devour this land and all who reside in it_. _Only to you Ner'zhul, shall every soul submit."_

**Present Time**

The Phantom Assassin perched from the narrow window pane and gazed intently at the Night Elf seated in his chair. He took slow and heavy breaths. His staff was held weakly in his hands, almost dangling between his fingers. He silently wept, alone, and unknown to the world. His eyes depicted pain and heartache. Dark circles around his face showed exhaustion and evident lack of sleep. Mortred felt nothing for him. This was the man that abandoned her; this was the man who had refused her a home. It was his doing that made her this way, and now she would have her vengeance.

She playfully fidgeted the dagger in her fingers as she looked intently at Furion, acclaimed Archdruid of the Night Elves. She was once like him, in fact, they were very much alike still. She shared similar features to him and even similar appearances. Old age had gripped Furion in its folds, while Mortred was still in her prime. Furion's skin seemed pale, and wrinkled, as opposed to the warmth that normally seemed to radiate from him, but not today. It was visibly apparent that he would die soon, but Mortred was here to make it quicker. It would be a slow and painful death, but a fraction of the pain and distress he had brought upon her.

Mortred was so lost in her thoughts, she was taken by surprise when Furion spoke, "I know you are there, child."

The Phantom Assassin leapt onto the hardy, wooden floor and phased out from her blended appearance. They were but a few feet apart from each other, with Mortred crouched in a deadly position on one side, and Furion sitting weakly in his chair on the other. Furion slowly rose and walked up to Mortred. He clutched his staff more strongly than before, and walked slowly towards Mortred. A deafening silence had gripped the room. After what seemed like an eternity, Furion lifted off Mortred's iron mask, and gazed into her eyes. He nodded approvingly and as a tear trailed down his cheek, he spoke soothingly to her, "Tyrande loved you, but I had to let you go. We feared for the worst, and I'm sorry it has to end this way. There is a lot of her in you still, yes, you have a lot of her in you."

Mortred rose and clasped her poisonous dagger ever so tightly. She looked painfully into his eyes as he uttered his final words, "I have nothing left to live for. End it, and let me be re-united with her once more."

He backed up slowly, and dropped the helm onto the floor of oak. She wasted not a moment, and thrust the dagger into his throat. He bled profusely, but uttered not a sound. He dropped silently on the floor, and let the poison seep into his blood. The energy radiating from his being began to rapidly fade, and a blueish hue began emanating from his body. The poison was coursing through his veins rapidly, and his strength was fading fast. His lips weakly formed into a smile, and he peacefully closed his eyes. A blue globe began to form in front of Mortred, which a familiar presence about it. She could almost hear its voice in her head, "_Thank you... for reuniting me with her at last..."_

As quickly as it had appeared, the blue hued spirit disappeared. The Phantom Assassin walked towards the doorway leading to the outside world. As her body began to blend into the environment and she too began to disappear from sight, she spoke for the last time. Her voice trailed across the wind, forever echoing the words,

"_Farewell, father..."_


	18. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 : A Requiem of Sorrow**

_With silence gaping the throats of these men of war, my presence alone brings about turmoil and gloom  
With despair slowly encroaching their hearts, it seems death shall soon sing the tale of their doom_

_"Nevermore, do you choose to cling onto the deceased king or submit yourself to one who stands before you? He, who was but a pauper in my midst, can not aid you no more. Will you be reluctant to obey me and betray me just as the rest have, or are you willing to accept my offer?"_

_"I live to only serve Ner'zhul, Abaddon. Do what you must, but Lord Arthas's voice can still be heard echoing in my mind."_

_"The deceased have no voice you fool. Your feeble mind just can not accept that he is gone and will never coming back."_

_"He speaks of a murderer, Abaddon. All of the Undead know of your sinister betrayal. Ner'zhul's power has already begun to fade from the vast hordes of the Scourge. You are King of no army Abaddon. Lord Arthas's kingdom is falling before your very eyes. You can not stop the revolts to come, you will not succeed. Know this fool; I do not bow to the weak."_

Like a phantom stirring in the shadows, the dark being treaded across the murky waters. The murloc and croc-infested marshes surrounded the dark entity from all sides. Large pockets of air abruptly bubbled every now and then at the surface, as if a drowning child was struggling for breaths of air beneath the thick muddy water. A vast bastion of Undead marched slowly behind this abhorred creature while keeping their safe distance. The Shadow Fiend was feared for slaughtering allies and foe alike for his own personal gains. For every victim he slew, it was said that the Shadow Fiend would store their souls safely inside his own, spiritually empowering himself. Leeching off their power, his own grows exponentially to the extent that he is able to fire volleys of this ectoplasmic energy and blast the ground in a torrent of shadow energy. Forever being trapped inside the pit of despair and blight, it was said to be a fate worse than the fiery depths of Hell itself. Alone and afraid, the victim's soul would slowly wither away into the nether, with no one to hear its screams of agony.

_Theramore Isle, to lay my eyes on it feels like but a dream. A land of magical enchantments, a place I've wanted to visit since I was but a mere child. And now, it's all mine for the taking. _

Nevermore shifted his gaze towards the troops rallying behind him. They immediately stopped in their tracks, ceasing all movement and actions. Their bodies trembled and their throats felt strangled in a deadly lock, yet they dared not to make a sound. A strange tranquility gripped Dustwallow Marsh, and an eerie solitude could be felt. The Undead felt alone, seemingly cut off from the world itself. Nevermore took a light step in the thick, damp soil beneath. Blight grew from where the tip of his "foot" had come in contact with the ground. As the weak sunlight penetrated through the dense mangrove trees, a gentle humming could be heard from the nearby vicinity of the swamp.

He raised a charred hand at one of the Ghouls at the front line. He spoke coldly, while laying sharp emphasis on his instructions by enunciating slowly, but clearly in his somewhat Transylvanian accent, "You. Check the woods. We're being watched."

Wasting not a moment, the Ghoul promptly obeyed and scurried in the direction of the forest. He clumsily skipped past the dark waters, and slid himself across the slippery mud. The creature crawled over the mangrove's roots and suddenly gave a short pause in its movement. He raised his head high above, unmoving and stiff. After a few brief seconds, it shifted its gaze towards the Shadow Fiend. The Ghoul shook its head slightly and opened its mouth to speak. Before it could utter a sound, its body grew limp and landed on the earth. With its back towards the sky above and its body sinking in the mushy soil, an arrowhead could be seen bored into the back of its skull, gleaming menacingly in the harsh rays of sunlight.

The humming grew fainter with each passing second. Tranquility seized the marshes once more, and the army of the Scourge obediently awaited their leader's command. Nevermore's vision fixated on the overgrowth, waiting to detect the subtlest of noise. He drew his right arm backwards and positioned it directly perpendicular to his side. With his palm outreached seemingly towards the canopies of the trees above, a white smoke began to slowly materialize. This strange phenomenon twisted itself into a tether of fine threads, with each section seemingly unraveling as more smoke was added to this chain. A crude shape of an elliptical net began to form of this smoke, with the stark lines of white slowly decolorizing into what appeared to be a murky shade of grey. These weaves of grey wrapped themselves in a mesh near the edges of this netted structure. An eerie glimmer of energy brimmed at the surface of these _silhouettes_, dark and powerful in essence.

The Shadow Fiend thrust his arm forwards. The shadowy globe of energy burst forwards, crushing all in its wake. Nearby Ghouls and Necromancers were cast into the air, all the while screaming in shrill, terrified voices. The laces of grey propelled the stark net of white forward in harmony, intertwined like that of darkness and light. The thick barks of trees crunched under the immense force of impact, almost as if they were but a hurdle in the path of its trajectory. Breaking the silence, a bloodshot scream echoed through the secluded marshes. A corpse slid down the limbs of a tall, sleek mangrove tree. It fell limp on the ground, just a few steps away from the Dark Lord.

_What! A Blood elf! Here? _

The threads of grey and white thickened to vines and slowly crept across the dead male's body. They slowly bound around his neck, around his sternum and hid his appendages beneath thick strands of white. Once his entire being was masked by layers upon layers of shadowy vines, they began to pulsate a rapid white. Suddenly, the corpse stirred and began ossing and turning. Feeble screams could be faintly heard, slowly dying away. The vines suddenly combusted into flames, revealing only a glimmer of light beneath the flickering blaze. The flames ritually danced around the Shadow Fiend in perfect unison, almost as if they were in the act of summoning a creature of untold power. A tiny globe of light suddenly darted towards Nevermore from within the ashes of the Blood elf. The fire extinguished, but a new blaze quelled beneath the Shadow Fiend's own torso. A dark sphere of energy materialized around his hand, and cycled around it in a melancholy manner.

Nevermore's voice rang out, "The first blood has been spilt. The time has come for Theramore to be shrouded in darkness. Let us rob them of their joy and shatter their last glimmer of hope. Let our presence be known across the lands. Despair shall soon unfold, and the glorious name of Abaddon will be sung across the lands in unison. The Scourging of Azeroth has only just begun, and now it is time for Theramore to fall under the might of Lord Abaddon!"

_What the hell is Arthas thinking? He promised to never break our pact… why is he choosing to go back on his word now, when he could have back then-_

"Mistress Proudmoore," said a voice interrupting her thoughts, "the front lying outposts have already fallen under the wrath of the vile Undead forces. We can not hold them off for long. It is only a matter of time before they siege the castle."

Jaina responded in a calm yet commanding tone, "Captain Voltaire, I fully understand the gravity of the situation. What has become of them is most unfortunate, but we must not dwell on the past. Prepare for a full-frontal assault, it may be our last."

"I'm afraid you don't, my lady," said Voltaire in a grievous voice, "we are vastly outnumbered. With every soldier of ours that is slain, their numbers grow exponentially. What you are asking of us to do is suicide-"

Jaina interrupted sharply, "What I am asking of you, captain, is to follow orders. What is it you propose, to run from them? Run to where, captain. This is our homeland, and we will defend it to our last breaths. There is nowhere left for us to go and there is not a place left in the world that will accept us."

Captain Voltaire intervened harshly, "You may be able to live with their deaths on your conscience, but I am not one to be able to live with the guilt. Call it cowardice if you must, but I shall not allow them to be slaughtered today."

"Watch your tone with me captain. I am still your ruler and if you choose to disobey me, I shall have to consider it an act of treason," said Jaina menacingly.

"My lady, I meant not to insult you. Regardless of you being my superior and your broken pact with that mad man, I feel that we should at least grant them a second chance at life, and save them from the torment of eternal living as the dead," replied Voltaire coolly.

She spoke in a solemn tone, "My powers have long since weakened captain. Either I hold down their forces and allow a few to escape on the boats, or your men try and bargain me some time. With just a little time, my vital energies can be restored just enough to let me help us escape from Arthas's clutches as far as possible. The choice is yours now captain, and I shall willingly abide by it."

_Arthas, I should have left you to die when I had the chance, you son of a bitch_

As massive projectiles of rotten meat tore through the wooden drawbridge, the denizens of Theramore Isle were fleeing in chaos. Volleys of arrows hailed upon the Scourge legions in the waters of the below, but their advance could not be impeded. Their silhouettes were steadily coming closer with each passing second, and the rapidly increasing vast size of the army sent shockwaves of panic amongst the Theramore Guard. Not a single human or bloodelf could stand still without trembling in fear.

Catapults hurled flaming logs of wood across the twilight sky in a blissful splendor of an intense blend of red and yellow. In their midst flew boulders of gigantic proportions and clashed with the rotting sacks of meat. The air reeked of decaying corpses and the stench of death itself. Enormously sized abominations began to hack away the wooden drawbridge with their cleavers. As mindless ghouls tried their best to burrow through the stone archways with their sharp claws, more boulders were hurled towards them from the sky. The harsh impact rendered them as but a pile of bones, flesh and blood, floating above the watery surface.

A shadowy weave of white laces tore through the drawbridge as if it were mere splinters and managed to collapse the entire structure. While some scaled upwards the stone castle walls, the rest of the bloodthirsty Undead crawled through their newly formed entrance, and behind them followed a dark, hovering being of untold might and power.

A wave of foot soldiers rushed forwards to confront the legion of mindless undead. They charged towards them with only a glimmer of hope trapped in their hearts. One by one they fell to the ground, and the curse of the undead took hold of their corpses. Reanimated from the grave, their swords clashed against their own brethren and kinsmen, who reluctantly fought to their last breath until they too were consumed by the curse.

The Dark Lord ignored the valiant efforts of the footmen, and proceeded with his assault. A small bastion consisting of a few necromancers, an abomination, and a fist full of ghouls followed his lead. They swept past the bustling streets and mercilessly slaughtered all that stood in their path. Be it the innocent child, the weeping mother, or the brash yet poorly equipped farmer, none were granted any mercy. Corpses were brought to life once more while uttering cries of _"Hail Abaddon!"_ in their breaths. They rose to challenge those that once loved them, and those that they once loved. The blood curling shrieks of the innocent echoed across the city streets. Murdered they were at the hands of their own relatives, friends, and even family.

The stronger, bolder warriors faced the wrath of Nevermore himself. The looms of shadow of light shredded their entire being and devoured their soul from within. With each of them that were slain, the Shadow Fiend grew stronger when facing the next. A handful of forces that dared to ambush him from the safe vicinity of their stone-walled strongholds incurred the Dark Lord's fury. With a slight wave of his hands, the ground was desecrated in an array of a flickering dark-green, seemingly imbuing a dark shadow vortex of energy. The array of shadowy energy engulfed his unsuspecting victims, causing them intense suffering. Screams of agony shot through the cold desolate walls, but there was no one to lend them aid now. The Undead could not be contained now, for it would take a miracle now to drive them back.

The Scourge bastion drove back a band of guards who sought nothing but defending Jaina Proudmoore's palace until death itself, and soon met their untimely ends at the hands of the ruthless Shadow Fiend. He sauntered past the still bodies of the Alliancary

Forces as if he did not care that he took away their youthful lives and subjected them to ever-lasting torment. In no time at all and with hardly any resistance, they easily reached to the end of the spiraling flight of stairs. Upon reaching the last step, Nevermore sensed a disturbance in the room. An eerie silence had gripped what seemed like the palace's throne room.

A hail of arrows rained upon the small group of Undead from the ceiling above and caught them completely by surprise. The ghouls ran chaotically in circles, confused as to what was happening. The necromancers reacted much more calmly and tried to channel a few spells to lend aid in relieving them of this predicament. Their spells backfired as intense negative bolts of energy shot from the walls of the room and sizzled the flesh of the necromancers to a fine, smoking crisp. Lying next to them was a large abomination, crushing several ghouls beneath it, and gutted with innumerable arrowheads.

Nevermore's assailants materialized before him, dressed in a shining golden armor etched with the emblem of a fountain spewing blood. The archers drew their arrows far into their bowstrings, while one of them who appeared to be their leader took a step forward.

"Any last words, vile demon?" taunted the elf mockingly.

"Please, call me Nevermore. But, I'm afraid, you're mistaken," said the Shadow Fiend in his usual accent and a smirk on his face.

"But whatever do you mean, Nevermore. With a mere flick of my wrist, I can order my men to slay you before you even get a chance of blink" said the elf laughingly.

The Dark Lord cackled maniacally and began to wave his arms around in a mystical fashion. The flames near his torso began to dance up and around his body, spiraling faster with each passing second. The elven leader wasted not a moment and ordered his archers to launch their arrows with a brief wave of his hand.

The flames danced ritualistically while Nevermore's strange dance of sorts continued. The arrows were now soaring through the air and speeding towards him at a deadly rate. The Shadow Fiend forced both arms downwards, and then sprung his hands skywards with all his might. A vicious thrust of wind blew towards his assaults, tossing the arrows aside as if they were mere paper. The gust of wind was followed the singing of a solemn, melancholy requiem. Souls of the departed began to sing in unison, with their voices echoing along the powerful blasts of wind. The voices of the dead soon took hold over all in the room. Their ear shattering cries of agony and pleas for freedom drove the elves' minds to insanity. They ceased to move entirely, and even their breathing pace slowed rapidly. Their heart rate slowed steadily, and despair began to enfeeble their hearts. Oddly, they began to relish this mysterious requiem of sorrow and slowly drifted their existence into it.

One by one Nevermore thrust a ball of shadow ectoplasmic energy at them, yet chose not to be affected by the news of their imminent deaths. As their souls were banished to the spiritual plane, the Shadow Fiend's vital energies were empowered once more, and his sole aim was brought back into focus. He strut towards the throne chamber's doorway hell-bent on fulfilling his task with only one thought in his mind; _consuming the soul of Mistress Proudmoore._


	19. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 : Dissension**

_We bicker amongst each other like children, forgetting who amongst us is friend or foe_

_Oblivious to us the time of reckoning draws closer, for it is then we are left to woe_

_At this very moment, there are hundreds, if not thousands of people whose lives are constantly changing. Each soul continually adds to the strands of destiny, affecting the new strands to come, and those woven in the past. For each decision they make, an irreversible change is brought forth. Once that decision is made, time shall never shift backwards to make amends. The choices they make affect the lives of all, in one way or the other. Unbeknownst to them, someone's life may have changed entirely out of the slightest of actions, or out of the simplest of gestures. _

_ "Lina, marry me. You've made me the happiest I've ever been…Please, let me do the same for you" _

"_Purist…I… don't know…"_

"_If you say yes, I promise to stand by your side till the very end. Together, we'll live our lives in joy and happiness. Someday, when all this is over, perhaps we can start our own family. I love you Lina and I know you love me too. Grant me this one wish Lina…and I promise…we'll always be together until death does us part…" _

_Not all gestures are that of kindness. There are those whose hearts are defiled by tainted blood. Compassion and love are shed away from their memories and are replaced by a never-ending lust for power and glory. So hell-bent are these vile scum on satiating their hunger that they stop at nothing to fulfill their aims, even it means eradicating all impeding their journey along the path to greatness. However, so absorbed are these people that they forget to act discreetly and unbeknownst to them, they are watched quietly from those within the shadows. _

_ "Abaddon…help me…please…I'm dying…"_

"_Frostmourne…how I've longed to have you within my grasp…"_

"_Abaddon! What…what are you doing?! I command you to cease at once!"_

"_Succeeding you, my Lord." _

_It is said, if you come to a standstill and listen openly with your heart, there is a chance that you may be able to hear their whispers. Deep within their mind, there echoes whispers of betrayal, forbidden love, or perhaps even those of disbelief._

"_What do you mean, he's dead? He promised…are you saying he broke his promise? You dare to lie to me? He isn't dead. It isn't him… I refuse it to be…This is just another one of your tricks that you're playing on my eyes…You must be lying…you have to be…He just can't…he said we would die together…he promised…" _

_In the lives of some, love ones are forever vanished. The heartache they must endure is perhaps a fate worse than death yet sadly is meant for them alone. Their love may have been open or kept secretly within the confines of their own hearts. Yet news of tragedy leaves their hearts shattered as the harsh reality of the truth finally sinks in. There are those that choose to weep in solitude while there are some whose last vestiges of sanity all but evaporate. Unable to control their mixed outburst of raw emotion, they sometimes make mistakes that they deeply regret later. Mistakes that at times can cost them their very lives in the long run. _

_Let the tranquility of the silence take hold of your troubled soul. Open your mind, young ones, and let your deepest thoughts roam free._

_ "I should've been there for him…I should have been there when he needed me the most. Now…he'll never know… and I'm only to blame. One more chance is all I ask for. Never again would such a travesty occur, never again…even if it became the death of me." _

_Who am I, is a question you must all be pondering over. A mythical beast is what I am, fabricated from the hopes, dreams, and desires of the denizens of the mortal world. I am Jakiro, an incarnate spirit, imbuing the sheer destructive power of Malygos, the Spell-weaver, and the eternal knowledge of Alexstrasza, the life-binder, and brought to life under the gentle disguise of a chimera. My spells are empowered by the icy enchantments of the blue dragonflight Malygos, aided by the fury of the red dragonflight Alexstrasza's fiery rage. While I may not be as powerful as the majestic dragonflights, I still retain prowess over their countless hidden talents and devastating abilities._

_I prefer my gentler, less threatening power of telepathy. In truth, I despise to battle, but I was sent here for a reason… and that reason I must fulfill. Nonetheless, I love to lose myself in the hearts and minds of others. Ah, how I love listening to the whisperers of the world! Their heart's truest desires become known to me, yet they still spend hours endlessly wishing for a distant soul to hear their inner plight. The desires of the heart are strange, yet curious phenomena. At times, they believe that even the most impossible acts can be enacted with an unshaken resolve and a bit of faith. At others, it rejects the plausibility of even the simplest of occurrences. Love is a delicate, fragile thing and must be dealt with cautiously. In a mere instant, love can kindle inside a nearby soul, while in just another, it can be crushed and fade away with the passage of time. Let there be silence once more…for I sense I hear someone whispering…_

_ "If only you could read minds, sweet Rylai, how much easier this would be for me. Every second of every day I must endure everlasting torment, knowing that you can not possibly find out of the endless devotion I am prepared to give you…it torments me so knowing that I can't tell you… that I love you." _

_We always talk of the quiet before the coming storm, and of how furious Mother Nature's wrath shall be. We never seem to talk of the quiet after, relish the momentary time of peace, and bask in the blissful serenity that we so rightly deserve. We rather choose to bicker of the here and now, ignoring the solitude so graciously bestowed upon us. Listen to them arguing like children, ready to be at each other's throats…_

_ "Have you gone blind? Do you not see the dead corpse that lies before you? He is the one you called your leader. How will he lead you now, he's dead! Are you all such fools that you can not fend for yourselves? First Purist, and now Furion…the death count rises proud Sentinel. It shall only continue to rise, is there no one that can see clearly?"_

"_Lina… don't be brash about it. We know of your loss, but revenge is not the answer. Don't let your feelings for Purist cloud your judgment—"_

"_One more word Luna, and I swear upon _**your**_ goddess Elune that you never see the light of day again."_

"_Watch your tone with me girl. I am your superior and you will not address me so—"_

"_Last time I checked, that was according to Furion. He's dead now. I'm pretty sure he won't stir in the grave once I choose to—"_

"_Have you gone _**mad**_? Are you even listening to yourself? Openly attacking the Scourge at this stage…are you insane? What your asking of us is to do is suicide, and for what? To avenge the death of a low ranked soldier?"_

"_The low ranked soldier you refer to, Lady Moonfang, is the father of my child to be."_

"_Lina…I…--"_

"_Spare me the pleasantries. All who wish to stay here and continue their democratic way of life until the Undead come and slaughter the very last of us, by all means, choose Mistress Moonfang to lead you to your demise or these god-forsaken foreign kingdoms that may help. I'm sorry to say, but the taint of the Scourge has spread much further than just Ashenvale. All those who wish to resist the oppression of the Scourge, should follow me. Do as you deem fit, but know that the choice you make now affects whether you live to rise again another day. You, lady Moonfang, may prefer to live under the tyranny and oppression of the Undead, but I shall choose to strike them while their armies still lay in shambles. Suicide it may be, but I'd rather die a valiant death than live as a monstrosity." _

_Then, there are those souls who feel as if they are lost in the mortal realm. They search continually for answers, answers to questions they already know. Soon, they drive themselves near the rink of insanity with this immaterial quest. Much like the clockwork swinging of a pendulum, their emotions run wild and free, seemingly aimless in their goal yet changing in the spur of a moment. Unsure of the new world around them, they make mistakes, even if they were out of good intention. _

_ "Salvation for you…my brother…Salvation for you…Now let me be set free from this curse…"_

"_But what of all of this senseless violence, brother? This is not your salvation…this will not absolve your conscience…"_

"_Then free me, Remmy…I don't wish to be subjected to such torment…"_

"_You killed me; brother…and the guilt will slowly consume you… and erase the very last vestiges of your sanity. But there is still hope… If you truly wish to be set free, seek the one who bears the knowledge of Dara'ghuman…" _

_A few roam in this world in solitude, choosing to force the world away from them, when in reality companionship is what they truly desire most. Among them, there are souls who isolate themselves not by choice, but are forced to reside in isolation by those who misunderstand. Their hatred is fueled by their burning desires of vengeance, until that is it slowly whittles away their existence. So haunted are these beings by the distrust and betrayal of others, that they begin to question even the good of their actions. _

_ "I lay ever so still, shivering in the darkness that consumed my very soul. I can neither gaze upon the bustling free world beyond the eternal dark void, nor hear the cries of freedom echo in my mind… They banished me... and I was their own kin. I shall have my revenge on them... blood for blood...Vengeance... will be mine..." _

_There are those that question their decisions and are unable to determine whether their intentions were right, or wrong. Truth be told, only they know, yet they continually seek the opinions of others, hoping to be told that which they already knew. Within themselves, their mind is fighting a constant battle, yet unfortunately, it's despair and profound confusion that usually reigns triumphant. _

_ " Master…I need your guidance…what am I supposed to do…this woodland creature threatened to kill us…but it seems a sin to put an end to his life…should I let him live, or should I leave him to die here alone? Three days have also come and gone…what should I do Master…I need your guidance…Enlighten me, Master Kel'thuzad…I need you now more than ever…" _

_The serenity of the forests is so calming, so soothing. If perhaps we take out but a moment of our meaningful lives to enjoy the silence, we may be able to see past the darkness that blinds us from the truth. A veil of shadows has been cast upon our vision and what lies behind is known to only a few. Have you wondered what lies hidden in the darkness? I once wondered too and I found my answers… but that is something I can not tell, for it threatens to dismember the strands of destiny itself. _

_Do you believe one man can change the lives of others? I do, for I believe a mere action can have an impact on many lives. Be it by the slightest of actions, be it by the kindest of gestures. The choices we make, in the end do matter, be it for better or for worse. I truly believe that one man can change many lives. He can be a symbol of guidance and a beacon of hope for others, while never knowing it. He could be the love of someone's life, but never find out how much pain he caused those around him. Be it by joy, sorrow, or love you never know how great an influence he might have had, or how important he was in the life of another being. Living or dead, he can bring distress, pain, and rekindle old feelings of hopelessness to someone admiring him from afar. It is said, every man lives, but not every man truly dies. He lives forever in our hearts, in our spirits, and in our souls. But is death truly the end for him?_

_ "With Furion in the grave and my men ready to strike a rebellion, it seems that there are few left to trust. Even the woman who I loved turned against me, so it seems I must find those who will remain loyal to me once situations turn grim. Do you understand why I have brought you here?"_

"_Yes Lord Abaddon…but I do not understand why have chosen me…"_

"_It is simple, Forsaken Knight. To be able to take down the mightiest of armies, you must either take it down from the roots or ensure there is no one else to aid them in their time of need. This is why I have scattered my forces; to take out distant kingdoms should the Sentinel choose to ask foreign lands for help. I shall not make the same mistake as my predecessor did…I shall not rely solely on my men, for I can sense distrust well."_

"_But Lord Abaddon…I do not understand---"_

"_If I even attempt to send my army under the command of another, they will retaliate and shatter the last regime of the Scourge. You are a person they have grown accustomed to over the ages and would never expect to face an army led by you; an army seeking to vanquish their feeble numbers. A leader, they once trusted and fought valiantly alongside, now shall be a foe they shall cower in the fear of. I believe that the preparations for your departure are ready?"_

"_Yes…Lord Abaddon…I shall not fail you…"_

"_Then I welcome you to the ranks of the Scourge, Purist Thunderwrath… I welcome you to the ranks of the Scourge…" _


	20. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: For Wherever Light Shines, There is Always Shadow**

_Even with love, laughter, and joy it appears we are left drowned in our own sorrows_

_For it seems that wherever light is cast, soon from the darkness shall rise the shadows_

"_Does he suspect anything of our arrangement?"_

_"No, he is far too obsessed with his thoughts of crushing the Sentinel. Don't worry, the fool is entirely oblivious of your presence here. Besides, he trusts me far too much... too much for even his own good. "_

_"Very well. But remember, this alliance is only temporary. Once he is dethroned, we part our ways and never speak of this again. Understood?"_

"_Ha, you think I actually _like_ having to go through this?"_

"_Fine, but I am however, rather curious. Answer me Dark Knight, why would one such as yourself accept my offer? Your hatred alone couldn't incur such spite on your part."_

"That_ is _none_ of your concern."_

"_I must know whether I can trust you. Afterall boy, I have countless other souls I can turn to. "_

"_For love and for hatred, you need not know more than that."_

A crisp, calming breeze swept past his fevered brow. He ran a glove-clad hand through his soft and suple golden locks of hair. It had lost much of its once glorious gleam. Nonetheless, while shimmering in the rays of sunlight, it still managed to retain vestiges of its rather elegant texture.Even in his grim and sorrowful state, he still had a divine presence about his gait. For every step he took, the blight seemingly dissipated beneath. Ironic it was for a man of such holy blood to be tainted with the foul touch of death. His dark-hazel eyes stared into the horizon, seemingly aimlessly. In those deep pools of hazel, a mere mortal could lose himself forever. To the observer, a plethora of emotions could be seen brimming at the surface, yet upon closer inspection, he would be able to see so much more. Intense flames of a passionate desire kindled, in contrast to the regretful sorrow of a man who had just lost that which he had held most dear. Rejection, anger, hatred, profound confusion and bewilderment were but a fraction of the feelings engraved in those eyes.

Somewhere, in the midst of all the despair and hatred that overshadowed his inner feelings of hope and piety, beat the kind heart of a wise, compassionate soul. With a heavy heart, Purist marched across the blighted soil towards a place he once called home. Home, a place of sanctity from all these vices of the world, and shelter from these god-forsaken creatures. Once bitter foes that he mercilessly slaughtered in the name of the Holy Light were now his allies reigning from the era of darkness.

Behind him followed a Legion of Undead creatures consisting of skeletal warriors, ghouls, sorcerors, wizards, and abominations of all kinds. Not a single Scourge general stood in the rows behind him, however. They had all been sent to scattered lands to do Abaddon's bidding. Each with a mission to fulfill, essential for the expansion of the Scourge. Kingdoms of distant lands were sieged by different generals and commanders of the Undead army. The fate of some were undecided at this point, while some had already been inflicted by the corruption and taint of the Scourge. Unlike these other generals however, it was the Dark Knight's duty to unleash the final assault on the Sentinel army. Dissension was already tearing their faction from within, leaving them in a very fragile and delicate state. Abaddon had decided to sieze this oppurtunity to end the war, once and for all.

Their journey stretched on for thousands of miles it seemed. The intense, scorching heat of the afternoon sun had died down to the faint glow of twilight. Their path endlessly continued, yet they relentllessly persisted to march towards their destination. Like sheep, the Undead minions mindlessly followed Purist Thunderwrath, their chosen shepherd. Bitterly ironic it was, for he once was a shining beacon of light for all those holy, but now was one with the vile denizens of the darkness. His mind screamed at him to turn back, to somehow reject the offer made to him, and just forget all that had happened. But his heart carried him onwards with a strong resolve to set things right. He couldn't leave them in this sorrowful, pitiful state. He had made a commitment and a promise, both of which he held sacred.

_Forgive me Lina, I never meant for it to be this way. Someday, you'll thank me for this. _

Slowly, the scenery around them began to change. The desolate, forsaken lands gave way to newly flourishing and thriving grasslands. Dying shrubs were purged from the sight, only to be replaced by the luscious greenery of trees and vineyards. Instead of putrid corpses rotting in the dust, frisky little critters happily frolicked in the fields. It was a magical feeling... as if life was slowly ressurecting from the remains of the dead. Lost feelings of hope slowly rejuvenated in Purist's soul. His iron will and resolve had never been any stronger.

Purist suddenly stopped in mid-step to let the tranquility of his surroundings sink in. It was an eerie, disturbing sort of silence, yet the feeling of being alone kept the Dark Knight contented. Just a short time ago, he stood here as one of the Sentinel, and defended it from the Scourge. Yet now, he treaded over the bodies over his former comrades, standing alongside his former enemies. He felt not a tinge of guilt or remorse, for he knew his decision was his own. Time was of the essence now, and every second he wasted, endangered his newfound mission.

The undead army had finally reached the Shanad'ar outpost yet there was not a living soul in sight. Archers had abandoned their outposts, Protectors lay withering in the dust, and corpses were piled around fiercely burning flames. One by one, necromancers and acolytes gathered around the decaying bodies. Like clockwork, the acolytes loaded them onto the meat wagons while the necromancers began chanting spells of ressurection. Skeletons reanimated from the corpses and were quickly recruited onto the Scourge lines. Souls materialized from the twisting nether and posessed the bodies of the elves. Bodies that were damaged irreparably and scarred from necromantic magics, were stitched together for the summoning of an abomination from the deepest corners of the abyss.

"Dark Knight, we await your command." spoke a necromancer, breaking Purist's intense meditation.

"We leave now." responded Purist firmly.

The necromancer strongly intervened, "But master, we haven't even finished our preparations. There is also the matter of--"

The Dark Knight harshly interrupted, "I said we leave now. The more time we waste, the closer it is to nightfall."

"At once... master Purist." said the necromancer in a cowering tone.

"Oh and tell the acolytes to load the wagons first and rendezvous with us later." said the Dark Knight in a quirky manner.

He was responded by a blank look of disbelief and confusion. Purist snapped at him, "Are you waiting for me to hold your hand, you dim-witted fool!"

The wizard-like being hastily scurried into the heart of the undead crowd, and began screaming out orders. They swiftly obeyed and immediately reacted to his command. The deformed creatures hurriedly ceased their rituals and formed organized rows once more. Purist smiled just a little that moment, for inside he laughed at how alike the Undead were to his own _kin_. The Dark Knight led the march once more, not noticing at all the stranger lurking in the shadows.

_Finally, we've reached..._

The sun had all but faded from sight and there was a single living creature across the vast horizon. They had been wandering through the forests for hours now, but were grateful that the beating rays of sunlight had finally died down. Even the crisp winds had begun to cease to dart across the grassy earth. The entire time, Purist's left hand lay fixated upon the hilt of his sword. All the while, he concentrated intently over what he was about to do. Regret...remorse... all those feelings came rushing back. But, he had made a promise, and there was no backing out now. That would be a coward's way out, and Purist Thunderwrath was no coward. If necessary, he would fight valiantly to the death.

_I think this is the place... Lina, forgive me_

His sudden halt sent waves of confusion throughout the Undead army trailing behind. Faint murmurs suddenly grew to loud whispers, as they began asking their comrades what their leader was planning. Purist turned towards them, standing proudly and boldly. A single teardrop slid down his wrinkled gray complexion, and his golden locks of hair swayed in the prevailing winds. With a heavy heart, he stared at the army that awaited his next command. They patiently waited, puzzled, yet observed silence to depict their sheer obedience. The Dark Knight almost felt pity for them at that moment, but he had come too far to back now.

His voice echoed through the hearts, and minds of all that stood before him, "Forgive me. Forgive me, for I have made a mistake."

Upon conceiving this strange remark of their leader, the vile creatures exchanged looks of unmistakenable bewilderment.

He took a deep breath, and continued in his usual formal manner of tone, "Forgive me, for I have sinned. You stand before me, as one, under the banner of Abaddon, yet I have sinned. I seek to atone for my sins now, I seek repentance... forgive me."

Even the cleverest of entities among the Undead were baffled now at the Dark Knight's bizarre rambling. It was purely non-sensical, yet they patiently waited to try and comprehend the gist of what was being said to them. They could not fathom at all the gravity of the situation, nor even begin to understand the repurcussions of what was to happen.

The Dark Knight continued, "Today, you sought out to eradicate the Sentinel, and put an end to this seemingly endless stalemate. So blind were you in trying to achieve victory, that you accepted even your bitterest of enemies with open arms, hoping that they would accept you as openly as you did them. Truly pitiful you are, to even begin to imagine, that we would accept you on this world of ours. You do not belong here, you are the vermin, the scum of this planet.

The Light has not forsaken me, yet your Lord has chosen to forsake you. Ner'zhul is displeased with how quickly you accepted his murderer as the new king. He breathed life into your soulless corpses, yet you turned your back upon him the moment he was gone. Arthas is displeased, and he has chosen to forsake you, just as you had forsaken him. Yes, all of you. Each and every one of you followed that fool Abaddon like sheep, and now, you are left to the mercy of his enemies, and rest assured, they will not take kindly to your presence in these parts."

Purist smiled and spoke coldly, "They shall come from all sides, and hail arrows upon your rotting corpses. They will slaughter each and every one of you, just as you had mercilessly laid siege upon their homelands. Let it be known, that not a single Undead shall be spared. No pardon shall be granted to those who have tainted blood flowing through their veins. Your fate has been decided, and let it be known, that your Lord has chosen to forsake you. And what of me you ask? The Light has bestowed upon me the honour of sealing your fate."

As soon as Purist's speech drew to a close, a harsh realization of horror, soon gave way to feelings of animosity amongst the Undead. They seethed with anger for being deceived so, and each drew their weapons with great dexterity. A blanket of darkness covered the night sky, and lanterns suddenly became alit in the darkness surrounding the legions of the scourge. With a beastial fury fueled by their sheer malice, they charged towards the former Omniknight - hellbent on tearing him apart, limb from limb. The Dark Knight's hand instinctively went towards the hilt of his sword, and he raised the powerful blade skywards. A golden aura of immense power enveloped Purist from all sides, embuing a mystical energy in the center of the blade itself. The radiance of the sword pushed the darkness back, and lit the entire field in a grand splendor. Searing pain shot through the flesh of the Undead creatures as he lunged towards them.

Their tender flesh sizzled under the intense rays of light, as well as scorching the delicate whites of their eyes. They blindly swung their cleavers, claws, and staffs at Purist Thunderwrath, but he swiftly evaded each of their attacks with ease. He swung his blade in a complete arc in front of him, and pierced through the thick hides of the line of abominations that stood before him. From the ground suddenly erupted a divine being, shining in golden armor and shimmering, celestial wings of silver. A single halo materialized above the former Omniknight's head, as he deflected an oncoming attack with complete ease. While maintaining a cool and calm composure, he hacked away at every creature that stood before him. For every rusty knife that embedded into his skin, the angelic being that stood above him restored his vilaity and sealed his wounds. Purist dug his sword furiously into each of the undead, slaughtering them one by one. His hatred fueled the thrusts of his blade, desperately trying to restore the Dark Knight of his former glory. His compexion grew fairer, smoother once more. His locks of hair returned to its graceful texture, and brilliant golden hue.

_Forgive me Lina, I never planned for it to happen this way_

Bolts of shadow pierced into his skin, weakning him further with each passing second, but he cared not. He fought valiantly and planned to do so until his very last breath. Silently in awe, the elves watched from the shadows at the impressive display. No matter how many successive strikes were made by the assaulting Undead, Purist's step did not falter, and his graceful elegance of battle did not fade. With the same courage and resolve that he had fought with his entire life, he did so for the very last time. He relished the moment of peace, and was grateful for the chance he was bestowed upon. Joy flooded his heart, yet the grief of losing Lina forced it back out. He formed a smile, after so long, and quickly made a sideways slash to slice off the arm of a ghoul.

The Gods had given him this one chance... and there would never be such a chance again. The kind-hearted Zeus had granted him this second chance, and he would not let him down. The God of Olympia, supreme head of the Elders, had intervened with the fate decided for the Omniknight, and granted this last chance. Zeus's decision of interfering with mortal affairs would cost him greatly in the future, but he blissfully accepted the consequences that were to be the outcome of his actions. To find such a holy and pious man amongst the sinful denizens of the world was a rare find indeed.

_I've kept my end of the deal Arthas, you'd best keep to yours..._

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_Do you believe that one man can have an impact on the lives of others? I do, for I believe that one mere soul can affect many lives. His acts of compassion, and his simplistic actions could very drastically change the life of someone he may not even know. Inevitably, our choices do matter, whether the outcome of the decisions we make are for better, or for worse. It takes only a single man to change the course of destiny. Perhaps, in his life, he was a shining beacon of hope for others, or perhaps he was someone that others looked up to. Unbeknownst to him, he could have been the love of someone else's life, but could have also brought great distress to another. However he influences another person, be it by love, laughter, joy, compassion, or even sorrow, yet there is no true way to know how great an influence he might have had or how important he was in their lives. It is said, every man lives, but not every man truly dies. He lives forever in our hearts, in our spirits, and in our souls. Perhaps it is true that change can be brought even from the great beyond. But, to say the that death is truly the end, is an act of ignorance. Death is just a dream, rather the eternal dream, that one finally slumbers through peacefully. But when death comes to him, he begins to question the outcomes of his actions. Were his actions justified according to the circumstances, or were they just the final acts of a desperate man who was afraid to lose that which he loved most? Only time can tell... only time can tell..._

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End file.
